


Cats Outta the Bag

by Thatmalu



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Adult Losers Club (IT), Age Regression/De-Aging, Animal Sacrifice, Attempted Murder, Back to life, Ben Hanscom Loves Beverly Marsh, Beverly Marsh Loves Ben Hanscom, Bill Denbrough Loves Mike Hanlon, Blood Magic, Blood and Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death Fix, Childhood Trauma, Dark Magic, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, F/M, HallowRen's Spooktacular IT Project, Halloween Challenge, Himbo Bill Denbrough, Horror, IT Chapter Two Fix-It, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mike Does Not Steal From Native Americans, Mike Hanlon Loves Bill Denbrough, Mild Smut, Multiple Lives, Murder, Nine Lives, Non-Canonical Character Death, Not IT Chapter Two Compliant, Not Really Character Death, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier is a Little Shit, Rituals, Stabbing, Stanley Uris Lives, Stanley Uris is So Done, Technically They Die, Temporary Character Death, Violence, Weird Plot Shit, Young Adult Losers Club (IT), its my turn to fuck this up, just rewriting the whole fucking movie, mentioned animal death, move over muschietti, past trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:27:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26916610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thatmalu/pseuds/Thatmalu
Summary: Kicking off HallowRen’s Spooktacular IT ProjectA challenge for artists to create an IT piece utilizing a randomized Halloween or horror prompt!My Prompt: Nine Livesor: I attempt to rewrite It Chapter 2 with an insane plot I swear I fever-dreamed.*****“We can go and check the ritual spot,” Mike pleaded. “I performed it in the club house - you guys remember, right? Once Ben finds Eddie and Richie, we’ll - ”“But Mike, Stanley is dead,” Bev said exasperatedly. “His wife said - ”“What about my wife?”All three heads snapped up to an unbelievable sight - one that no normal person in a normal town under normal circumstances would have been able to explain.
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Beverly Marsh & Richie Tozier, Bill Denbrough & Mike Hanlon & Ben Hanscom & Eddie Kaspbrak & Beverly Marsh & Richie Tozier, Bill Denbrough & Mike Hanlon & Ben Hanscom & Eddie Kaspbrak & Richie Tozier & Stanley Uris, Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon, Eddie Kaspbrak & Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Patricia Blum Uris/Stanley Uris, Richie Tozier & Stanley Uris
Comments: 38
Kudos: 60
Collections: HallowRen's Spooktacular IT Project





	1. A Turn of Events... and Ages

**Author's Note:**

> Greetings! This is part one of four for the beginning of my Halloween Art Challenge! 
> 
> During the last week of October, amazing writers and artists will be posting IT-related work based off of a prompt randomly assigned to them, myself included! The challenge is to take one's random prompt and make a horror or Halloween related fic. I’m kicking it off early by splitting my prompt into four parts, getting the ball rolling to 1) force myself to complete the very project I started and 2) get you guys hyped tf up for these creators, because they are all tremendous and honestly people I strive to write like!
> 
> I will be pinning a post on my tumblr by tomorrow (10/10) @ fuckbitchesgetreddie with many of our creators in the project tagged, so check out the other writers and artists, subscribe to them and get hyped for their upcoming works! They will be posted during the week of Halloween (between 10/25-10/31).
> 
> Anyone willing to write at least 3k or a visual art piece by the end of the month is welcome to join and get a random prompt! Just DM me on tumblr.
> 
> Please heed all tags, ratings, and warnings! There's bound to be a hodgepodge of stuff, but this *is* a horror fandom and this is the spooky season. 
> 
> That being said, I present to you the fic that gave me an aneurysm trying to figure out while I also attempt to rewrite the dumpster fire It Chapter 2 with an air of final destination energy. I hope you laugh, cry, and enjoy my attempt writing gore. Death is not the end.
> 
> My prompt: Nine Lives

Dipping into the steaming bath sent goosebumps over Stanley’s cold skin until he settled down into the porcelain, letting the heat sink in for a few moments as he laid there. An image of a young boy flashed before his eyes; auburn hair and a determined stare, his lips moving along with a stutter that Stanley could barely register as the boy's words washed over him.

Stanley lets out a few shaky breaths as the long-forgotten memory forces itself to his brain’s surface, somehow managing not to cry at the betrayal of it all. It had done so well being hidden away, his life uninterrupted by this horrific trauma. Now it was too late, the thoughts draining his mind of all things good and wonderful. There was no coming back from it now, and Stanley knew there wasn’t any other way.

“I swear, Bill.”

The damning lie escapes his lips as he guides his razor down to his wrists. Tears finally cascade down his cheeks as he feels the deep, aching sting under his skin as he slices down in a fluid motion. He can’t help but sputter out a groan at the unpleasant yet freeing feeling, holding his arm up to watch the deep red drip down his arm and spread into his bath water.

Too late to turn back now.

It’ll be faster if he does them both, he realizes, quickly popping the surface of his flesh and bringing the razor down his other wrist, gasping as it hits a nerve with a little electrical shock running down to his elbow, dropping the razor into the water with a quiet _plop_ as the numbness spreads. Only one thought is on his mind now, shakily reaching up and smearing his blood-dripping hand onto the tile over the faucet until it spells out the plague in his mind:

**_IT_ **

He doesn’t want to look at it, turning over and sighing softly as he drapes his arm over the edge of his tub, smiling just the slightest bit because maybe, just maybe, this will have helped them more than anything else he could have done. His eyes don’t even close as he drifts off into what feels like a dream, awaiting a light he thinks is supposed to come take him away. 

Instead, Stanley finds himself in darkness.

***

“Stanley,” Eddie groaned, his hands up to his brow in disbelief. “Pennywise knew. He knew before we did.”

“We have to stop him,” Mike said determinedly. “I have a plan.”

“I got a plan!” Richie piped in, near hysterics. “Getting the fuck out of Dodge before this ends worse than one of Bill’s books. Who’s with me?” He raised his hand and was followed by Eddie enthusiastically, all while Bill paced around the group. 

“We made a promise to each other!” Mike pleaded. 

“So let’s un-make the promise!” 

“Richie,” Ben said solemnly. “Other people are gonna die.”

“Other people die every day, man!” Richie cried, waving his arms about in a dramatic fashion. “We don’t owe this town shit! Plus, I just remembered I grew up here, like, two hours ago. So I’m fucking leaving. Fuck this.” 

Richie turned on his heel, passed where Beverly sat lighting her cigarette, just passed Eddie who quickly turned to follow him with one last apologetic wave to Mike. “I’m sorry, man. I’m with Richie.”

“Eds, please - ”

Richie tensed up but didn’t look back, his brain ignited by some inappropriately placed jealousy at the nickname Mike threw at Eddie, _Richie’s_ name for Eddie.

“Listen,” Eddie said exasperatedly. “What? We stay, we die, that’s it?” He turned and placed his hands up on Mike’s shoulders, his large eyes boring into Mike with pleas. “I’m gonna go back to the inn, I’m gonna pack up my shit, and I’m gonna drive to my home. I’m sorry, man. Good luck.”

“ _Eduardo, andale!_ ” Richie shouted, smacking the hood of Eddie’s car. “Let’s go!”

Eddie jogged up to the driver’s side door, hissing at Richie over the roof, “You didn’t drive yourself here?”

“Just open the fucking door. I’ve had at least six shots.”

Eddie rolled his eyes, unlocking the car so they both could get in. Neither of them looked out the window, save for Eddie’s necessary peeks through his rearview mirrors in order to get out safely. They couldn’t bear to look back at their friends, especially not Mike, who was still trying to talk to Bill from what they could gather in their peripherals. 

“This is fucking bullshit,” Eddie muttered, getting onto the main road. “Waste of a fucking plane ticket, this is.”

“I’m surprised you went on a plane,” Richie mumbled absently beside him.

“It’s safer to fly,” Eddie reasoned. “Why didn’t you rent a car?”

“I don’t have a driver’s license.”

Eddie snapped his head over at him incredulously for a moment before turning back to the road. “You don’t have a _license_?”

“What’s the point? I've lived in New York since I was 18 and all my tours set up transportation for me.”

“You - you live in New York?”

“Yeah, why?”

“I live in New York,” Eddie said quietly. 

They both digested this in silence, both wondering if perhaps they had run into each other at any point in the last couple of decades. Eddie had moved to Queens when he was 17 and had lived in Manhattan since his mid 20’s. That was almost 20 years he could’ve been face to face with Richie and not even have realized it.

Although there was no way he could ever voice it to him, Richie had moved to New York to find Eddie in the first place; before he forgot about him entirely.

“Hey, turn here.”

“What? No, I’m not taking those shitty little side roads, I’m gonna drive down - ”

“Eds, please!” Richie groaned. “Just turn here.”

There was something desperate about his voice that made Eddie want to listen (except really deep down Eddie always wanted to listen to Richie, _still_ ), so he made a right down an unlit path that gave him the creeps, but it also sent a wave of nostalgia rolling through him. It was a little ways down that Eddie started to recognize that they were about to drive over the Kissing Bridge through Bassey Park.

“Slow down,” said Richie. “Stop right up here.”

“What are we doing, Rich?”

“Just - I need to see something.”

Afraid to turn the car off to lose the light, Eddie left his keys in the ignition as he got out and followed Richie. It was awfully chilly for a June night, but Eddie supposed that his body had forgotten to be used to cold like this, when a hot summer day could drop to 60 once the sun dipped down the horizon. He wasn’t sure what Richie was looking for here, but he stood staring at the wooden rails of the bridge, lost in thought.

“Excited to go back home to your wife, Eds?”

Eddie furrowed his brow. The appropriate response would be to sound enthusiastic about the prospect of seeing the person he chose to marry, but a strange thing had come over Eddie several hours ago when he entered the Jade of the Orient. No, it was more like something came _off_ , shed like layers of skin on a creature that outgrew its encasings. Walls broke down (and the wine didn’t help) when Eddie laid his eyes on Richie again, trying to piece together the emotions there.

“No,” he replied softly. “I’m never quite happy to see her, to be honest.”

“Why’d you marry her, then?” Richie asked. His voice was casual, but Eddie could see his jaw flex. It wasn’t unlike the disappointment that flashed over Richie’s face when Eddie had shared he was married in the restaurant.

“Myra was… a safe choice,” Eddie said slowly. “Myra was familiar. She was routine. She was comfort.”

“Was?”

Eddie sighed. “After my mom died, I - I did some reflecting. Watching Myra start to take over all the final arrangements and soon after taking over my life, just like my mom did, I - started to make the connections.”

“You married your mom,” Richie said bluntly, still staring off.

“I married my mom,” Eddie nodded, turning around to lean his back against the rails, facing the way of his car. “I don’t very much love my wife; or, like her, even.”

“I don’t very much love my _life_ ,” Richie snorted humorlessly, leaning forward onto the bridge. “I’ve spent most of it trying to figure out what this - this dark fucking cloud over me has been, drenching me with this - this exceptional fear.”

“Fear of what?” Eddie asked. He wasn’t sure what kind of answer he was expecting, but Richie Tozer _always_ had an answer for everything, so the silence was stunning. He figured maybe Richie was trying to put into words the unknown fear of something lurking in the darkness for 27 years awaiting their return. Eddie slowly turned and saw Richie staring at him with a meaningful, almost pained expression. His eyes were bright behind his glasses.

“I _am_ really happy to see you, Eddie,” Richie said softly. “Despite everything else.”

There was no harm in showing him, Richie thought. They’d forget once they left this godforsaken town. He leaned away from the rail, stepping back to look directly at a large carving there, one he had made many years ago to right his feelings after a mortifying experience in the arcade, help him feel like they were somehow _ok_ for him to feel. Eddie’s eyes followed, catching sight of what Richie was looking at. Richie could hear Eddie’s breath hitch beside him.

“Is that - did you - ?”

“Yeah. When we were 13.”

“Is this - was this some kind of joke?”

“No,” Richie sighed, tensing himself and waiting for the inevitable freak out. “For once in my life, I am not making a joke.” 

It was Richie’s turn to wait in silence, expecting to see Eddie perhaps terrified, or whatever emotion Sonia would have instilled in him in regards to the evil _homosexuality_. When Eddie remained uncharacteristically quiet for someone who just had such an emotional bomb dropped (perhaps silently reeling in disgust over all their too intimate moments growing up), Richie turned to look at him. Eddie’s expression was so soft that Richie felt momentarily startled.

Slowly, Eddie raised his hand, his finger pointing off to the side towards something hidden in the darkness of Richie’s shadow. Richie took a step back so the light from Eddie’s headlights could shine where Eddie was pointing, and revealed a wonky, poorly drawn heart with the letter ‘R’ inside. As if someone had carved it with a cast on his writing arm.

No fucking way. 

Just as Richie opened his mouth to say something, Eddie reached up and pulled Richie down into a decades overdue kiss. Richie could barely register it before Eddie pulled back again.

“Why the _fuck_ didn’t you say anything, asshole?”

“Wha - I - _you didn’t say anything either_!”

“Do you not remember who my mom was?” 

“Yeah, but - wait, Eddie, are you - did you really like me?”

“Of course I did, dipshit. Do. I do like you. Fuck,” Eddie groaned before pushing himself up on his tiptoes and kissing Richie again.

This time Richie brought his arms around Eddie’s waist, helping Eddie press closer into him until they were chest to chest, one of Eddie’s hands on Richie’s face while another clung desperately to the collar of Richie’s shirt. He seemed almost _pained_ to be kissing Richie, so hesitant yet _hungry_. Richie pressed him back against the old railings, adjusting himself to tuck between Eddie’s legs, rubbing his sides affectionately to relax him, because he could feel just how unsure Eddie was about this despite initiating it to begin with.

Richie almost protested when Eddie broke their kiss for a moment, but Eddie whispered, “I’ve wanted to do that for a really long time,” and it was like a ghost that brushed against his skin; the haunted fact that they had both been pining for this and couldn’t, just fucking _couldn’t_ because of this stupid shit town. 

“Your wife - ”

“ _Fuck_ my wife, Richie,” Eddie groaned, grinding his body into Richie’s. “We’re never going to remember this when we leave. Just - let us have this before we have to go back.”

How could Richie say no to that? Both of them could tuck this away with the rest of their repressed memories, chased down with bourbon to burn away any thoughts that might _threaten_ to make themselves known. Or any of Eddie’s pills, his real pills that sunk his mind into a hidden safe place in his head, warm and fuzzy and blank, because neither of them could afford this to be real when they went home. But they had it now, even if just for a few stolen moments -

“What the _fuck_ are you doing?”

Eddie shoved Richie off of him, Richie turning to see what kind of assholes had intruded on them. A group of about five younger guys with looks of disgust turning their faces up at them, almost looking confronted about this. Richie couldn’t help but transcend back to his adolescence, wanting to shrink into himself and hide from unfriendly eyes.

“We’re not - we’re not doing anything,” Eddie stammered. His voice was so small, it sent a quivering anger through Richie, because _no one_ had the right to make Eddie feel this scared. “We were just leaving.”

“You better be leaving fucking town,” one of the guys said, spitting on the ground near Richie’s foot. “We don’t let faggots roam here. Surely you heard about the last queer that thought it was a good idea to show off.”

“He said we’re leaving,” Richie said through gritted teeth, images of that young asthmatic kid from the newspaper flashing into his brain. _No way that’s going to be Eddie. Don’t even fucking try it._

One of the problems with Richie, as it always had been, was that he couldn’t keep his fucking mouth shut. It always got him in trouble at school growing up, it ruined his relationships, even his career until his agent got him a ghostwriter. Aging and maturity only did so much, and he always secretly wondered when the day would come that his mouth would get him killed.

Tonight was just as good a time as any.

He really couldn’t help it; it meant to be a _thought_ , until it slipped past his lips just barely under his breath, only to be heard by one of the homophobes closest to him.

“ _Fucking assholes_.”

“What the _fuck_ did you say?” the guy said, pushing Richie against the shoulder and forcing him to face him.

“He didn’t say anything,” Eddie said quietly, pulling the sleeve of Richie’s jacket. “C’mon, Rich - ”

“Wait a minute,” the guy in front of Richie said, pointing his finger in Richie’s face. “I _know_ you. _Trashmouth_ Tozier. The fucking comedian.”

“Holy shit you’re right,” one of the others said. 

“Oh great, you’re fans,” Richie deadpanned. “Now let me go back to our car and I’ll get you tickets to a show or something - ”

“Why don’t you put on a show now?”

“Yeah, say something funny.”

“Well the problem is that he’s not actually funny,” Eddie said very quickly, a sense of panic running through him. “He’s just a big idiot and we’ll be here all night waiting for anything remotely amusing to come out of his mouth, so we’re gonna get going - ”

“Yeah, it’ll be quite impossible to say anything funnier than you clowns,” Richie said. “I can’t think of anything clever to say when I’m already staring at the world’s biggest joke.”

Richie tensed his stomach, prepared for the fist about to plummet into his abdomen, but instead heard a soft grunt beside him as one of them appeared to punch Eddie in the gut.

“Hey - !” But Richie was cut off with a blow to his face, knocking him sideways where he stumbled and fell straight on his hip. He looked over to see one of them hitting Eddie over and over and it was with a horrific, visceral drop in Richie’s gut that he noticed the faint _plucking_ sounds, blood starting to pool on Eddie’s polo shirt where they were stabbing him -

“Motherf - !”

Another blow straight to his nose. Another. Another. There were at least two guys on each of them and Richie’s brain went blank, only able to comprehend the sickening wet slicing of skin, the crunching of bones in Richie’s own face and jaw, someone stomping on his torso until he felt a sharp pain and cracking in his ribcage. Someone soft fell to the ground near him, followed by a scuffle, and Richie could only hope Eddie was somehow trying to get away -

It was one of those things that lasted forever but was over just as soon as it started.

Eddie was still breathing - for once Richie was happy that Eddie’s asthma corrupted his lungs enough to draw out that familiar wheeze. Everything was a blur and Richie desperately clawed around the gravel and pavement until he felt the cold frames of his glasses to shove them on his face. They were shattered, grime smeared on the lenses, but Richie was able to make out Eddie’s small figure several feet away from him.

As he moved, he could feel all the blood from his mouth dripping down his throat. Richie tried to sputter it up, but there was too much to subside, running down worse than a sinus drip. He knew he was breathing too much in, swallowing it in gulps as it pooled in his mouth, feeling himself get sleepy as he dragged himself over to Eddie’s body. As he moved, he realized that besides his own broken ribs, they had left him some stab wounds of his own, but if he was going to die in this shit ass town, he wanted to know Eddie was going to be alright, at the very least _think_ this was going to be alright. 

But as Richie neared him, his hands and sleeves _splat_ through pools of blood draining from where Eddie lay, listening to his little wheezes get shorter and quieter. It was all Richie had in him to pull himself up until he was lying face to face with the other man.

Nothing hurt Richie as badly as seeing Eddie scared; not in his whole damn life. Twenty-seven years ago, he was pulling Eddie’s tiny face towards his own, trying to make sure that if they were going to die, the last thing Eddie would at least see was Richie telling him he loved him, not that damn clown. Not this dirty bridge full of germs (that he knew Eddie was thinking about) or the faces of those men that had put them here. As badly as Richie’s face hurt, it was nothing compared to the pang in his chest seeing Eddie’s large eyes, even wider in terror, blood dripping from his bottom lip, spilling out from where his body had been torn within him, the rest of his face bruised and swollen. 

“ _Eds_ ,” Richie sputtered, blood and what felt like part of a tooth spitting out of his face. His jaw grinded like it was full of sand as he spoke, from where his teeth were cracked and shattered.

“Rich,” Eddie cried, tears dripping down over the bridge of his nose. 

Richie reached out and grabbed Eddie’s hand, not taking his eyes off of him for a moment. He hated that the last thing Eddie would see would be Richie’s bludgeoned and bloody face, but he didn’t take his eyes off of him either. He squeezed Richie’s hand with as much strength as Richie figured he could muster, his grip slackening almost immediately. 

On the cold pavement in the town Richie swore he’d never return to, he watched Eddie’s pupils blow out and turn cold in their gaze, no longer able to see where they stared vacantly in front of him. There was nothing there but dulling color, the life draining as Richie heard Eddie let out the crackling death rattle with his last wheezy breath. 

The moment Richie saw Eddie at the restaurant, his heart went berserk, flooding with emotions he hadn’t felt in _decades_ . Like love and lust were just a pathetic imitation of this feeling he had forgotten about when he looked at him, a plummeting craving and giddiness that tingled Richie’s insides. When he found out Eddie was married, it was akin to being _shot_ , or maybe being stabbed since Richie could say with certainty that he knew what that felt like now - and it fucking _sucked_.

This was worse. Much worse.

 _I love you_ , Richie tried to say, but it came up as nothing but gurgling, wet noises out of his lips. Maybe it was best Eddie couldn’t hear anything anymore.

Still, Richie blinked through tears that spilled down into his blood, thinking maybe --

“ _\- EEEELP! HEEEEEEEELP! SOMEONE PLEASE - CAN ANYONE FUCKING HEAR ME, GOD PLEASE!”_

“Eddie?!” Richie shot up in the dark. The pain was gone and he felt like he had just woken from some kind of nightmare. It didn’t make any sense - if Derry was all a nightmare, why was Eddie here, screaming? Had he gotten so drunk at the restaurant that he blacked out and imagined the whole night? All the pain in his body, in his face, had disappeared in a flash, and he carefully touched his face, feeling that it was dry and intact.

“Ri - _RICHIE??_ ” Eddie’s screams were desperate, echoing around them, indicating they were in some small, compact space. Something was off about Eddie’s voice, but it was hard to tell while he was crying and panicking.

“Eddie, where are you?” Richie asked, moving his hands and - oh god, was - _was he naked_? Yes, he was lying buck-ass nude on something soft. And why did his own voice sound so _strange_? “What the actual fuck is going on?”

“Richie,” Eddie cried. Richie could hear him shuffling from not too far. “Richie, I can’t - I can’t see anything, all my - all my clothes are gone - ”

“Mine, too,” Richie said, holding his arms and shivering slightly. His arms felt so ghastly thin, like he had starved down here (wherever this was) for weeks. The air around him smelled of earth and dust, like they were somewhere underground. “I don’t - I don’t know what’s happening.”

“Wait,” Eddie gasped. “I found something. Hold on.” As his voice got calmer, Richie could recognize that it _was_ very different, somehow sweeter, more light. 

“Do I - Eddie, do I sound different to you?”

“I have more pressing matters right now, Rich… shit, is this…? I think it is - ”

Blinding light flashed before Richie’s eyes, shutting them briefly as it burned his retinas. Once he opened them, it was still incredibly blurry, his glasses gone along with his clothes. All he could do was squint around at the blur of brown walls around him.

“Rich!” 

Eddie was there at his side, sliding down onto his knees to grab Richie’s face so Richie could see him more clearly. His face - his face was _young_ , no older than his early twenties probably, but it was damn sure Eddie, all right. Richie reached up to his soft face, all traces of stubble gone, and his hair - his hair was longer than Richie ever remembered, curling down around his ears and over his brow, streaks of gray in various places.

This had to be some kind of delirious fantasy, surely?

“Richie, you’re - you’re - ”

“Stupid? Drunk?”

“ _Young_ ,” Eddie finished, his eyes tracing over Richie’s face carefully. “This can’t - this can’t be fucking real? What the _fuck?_ ”

“I am?” Richie looked down and saw, with a weird mixture of delight and terror, that his pudgy belly had been trimmed down. He now saw his scrawny, younger self, all bone and lank. He reached his hand up and felt his hair - cut down short on the back and sides, a haircut he had many years ago when he was finally starting out in comedy clubs. The voice made sense now, much lighter without years of cigarette smoke and all of his overtalking damaging his vocal chords.

“Yeah, your fivehead actually looks like a normal forehead without the receding hairline.”

“Ha ha ha,” Richie snorted.

“What about me?” Eddie asked.

Richie looked back up at the startlingly angelic face of young Eddie Kaspbrak, faint freckles of his youth peeking from under his tanned cheeks. He was so goddamn beautiful.

“Like a young Norman Bates.”

“Who - ?”

“Anthony Perkins in Psycho.” Richie looked around and - well, he just couldn’t really help it, it was _right there_ … “Uh, Eds?”

Eddie looked down and immediately yelped, ducking his body down and balling up next to Richie to cover himself. Richie couldn’t help but chuckle, even under the circumstances.

“Where were you packing that thing?” he winked.

“Shut up,” Eddie grumbled, looking around this strange underground bunker uneasily. “This is _not_ the time for fucking jokes. Seriously, where the fuck are we? I thought we were fucking dying.”

“Maybe we did,” Richie reasoned. The place felt oddly familiar, but peculiar all the same. “Maybe we died and this is… uh…”

“Hell,” Eddie groaned. “We are definitely in hell. Heaven doesn’t look like this.”

“It could be like one of those waiting areas they had in Beetlejuice?” Richie suggested. 

“Very likely, Rich.”

“Well… it’s probably not heaven, but it’s not… so bad. I mean we’re… alone… and together… and, uh…” He couldn’t help but smirk a little as Eddie slowly turned to look at him incredulously. 

“Rich…”

But Richie had just been fucking stabbed and beaten to death, thank you very much, and for all he knew this entire thing could’ve been a dream. He wasn’t going to waste any alone time in a dark room with the love of his life, _naked_ for fucks sake. He took Eddie’s small face in his hands and kissed him with even more vigor than he had on the bridge, his youthful energy having been sprung back into him. Almost ready to pull back, Richie couldn’t help but grin as Eddie reached his slender arms around him and pulled Richie on top of him, allowing him to pin the smaller man to the ground beneath him. 

These weren’t the most romantic of circumstances, but what the hell, right?

Riche reached down to wrap his hand around both of them in a fluid motion, feeling Eddie’s back arch at his touch as he let out a loud moan.

“Fuck. Jesus. Fuck.”

“It’s just a handjob, Eds,” Richie chuckled, licking down Eddie’s neck as he stroked their cocks together. “Holy shit, I had no idea you had been hiding a beast like this in your little shorts.”

“I’ve never - I’ve never been with a guy before - fuck,” Eddie stammered breathlessly, looking down at where their dicks were pressed together in astonishment.

“Take it easy,” Richie murmured, shifting their legs so Eddie’s were wrapped around his waist, his small body trying to thrust up into Richie’s while Richie kept jerking them off. “God this is amazing. No more middle age lower back pain.”

“ _OhmygodOhmygodOhmygod_ ,” Eddie moaned, throwing his head back.

“Just ‘Richie’ is fine, Eds.”

“ _For fucks sake, Richie._ ” But Eddie couldn’t help but giggle through his panting, pulling Richie down by the neck and kissing him deeply again. 

So they were probably dead, but if they could have this, Richie was already happier than he could remember in over two decades, grinning in delight at this beautiful touch-starved man falling apart beneath him with just the strokes of Richie’s hand. They got lost in the simple bliss of it, feeling all over each other, never noticing the sounds of the hatch on the other side of the room or footsteps coming down the ladder while they were moaning and licking into each other's mouths.

“ _What the actual fuck?!_ ”

***

“Mike,” Beverly said softly. “Let me get this straight…”

“You puh-puh-performed… a ritual?” Bill asked incredulously, gripping a glass of rum tightly at the Inn’s bar.

“It was that or steal from Native Americans,” Mike said, looking sheepishly over at Bill. “Look, I… I found it in an old book in the library, full of all these spells - ”

“It’s cr-crazy,” Bill said firmly. “But it - it can’t be any muh-muh-more crazy than the shuh-shit we’re dealing with.”

“How many - I mean, do we each get an extra life?” Beverly shook her head, cradling it in her hand in disbelief. “How does it work?”

“Well it’s based on the cat,” Mike explained. “So it’s nine lives we’re given, total. I had to take an artifact from each person who would be sharing the lives - ”

“Artifact?” Beverly repeated. “Cats?”

“Yes, it - I needed something very personal from each of you, since you couldn’t be here. Luckily, the blood wasn’t necessary to take.”

“The _blood_?”

“When we made the blood pact, our bonds became one,” Mike continued. “So all it needed was my own blood, and you were all protected by the spell. So Stanley, he… he should be alive…”

“But he’s not, is he?” Bev whispered softly. “Patty, she… she said…”

“So wuh-we know it d-d-didn’t work!” Bill huffed, throwing his hands up. He looked like he was about to shout something, but the front door of the Inn opened suddenly. They all moved a little closer into the den to speak quietly to each other.

“I mean, really Mike?” Bev shook her head. “A nine lives spell? How were you even going to test that out naturally? Off one of us and hope for the best?”

“We can go and check the ritual spot,” Mike pleaded. “I performed it in the club house - you guys remember, right? Once Ben finds Eddie and Richie, we’ll - ”

“But Mike, Stanley is _dead_ ,” Bev said exasperatedly. “His wife said - ”

“What about my wife?”

All three heads snapped up to an unbelievable sight - one that no normal person in a normal town under normal circumstances would have been able to explain.

Ben had brought Richie and Eddie back all right, accompanied by Stan, but the three of them were at about half the age they were supposed to be. Richie and Eddie looked disheveled and filthy, wearing their now blood-stained clothes, Richie’s glasses having been cracked on one side. Ben stood awkwardly in his boxers, apparently having given Stanley his pants, where he stood otherwise in just Eddie’s open hoodie and without any shoes.

Silence laid heavy in the room for a time while the seven old friends processed what was happening. Finally, Richie spoke up.

“So ritual in our underground clubhouse? Is that where we woke up after being murdered?”

“ _Murdered?_ ” Beverly and Mike shouted together.

“Mike, I fucking _told_ you I didn’t want to fucking die here, man,” Richie scowled, folding his arms across his chest. His clothes now seemed much too big for his scrawny body, bunching up where his arms rested. “So please tell me what the _fuck_?”

“St-Stanley,” Bill breathed, walking over to where Stanley stood awkwardly next to Ben. None of them were sure if it was more strange how familiar he was, or that he was so youthful looking after all this time. He still had on an exasperated expression that they could all recognize very well.

“What did my wife say, Beverly?” Stanley asked quietly. “Nice to see you, by the way.”

“You - you, too,” Beverly croaked, her eyes swimming with tears. “She - she said you - you slit your wrists in the bathtub.”

Stanley nodded while pursing his lips, shoving his hands in Ben’s oversized pants. “Right. Yes. That I did. So can someone tell me why, instead of blissfully slipping into the arms of death, I woke up yesterday in a giant underground tomb?”

“You woke up in the clubhouse?” Mike asked carefully.

“I did. I was also _naked_ and terrified of running off too far into the woods I was unfamiliar with. In fact, I was on a little nightly stroll seeing if anyone was around, only to walk back down and see _these two_ \- ” he shoved a finger in Eddie and Richie’s direction. “ - mounting each other like animals.”

“ _We thought we were dead!_ ” Eddie hissed through gritted teeth, his face blushing a deep shade of red as the others stared. Mike’s mouth hung open, and Bill had a strange expression like he was trying to work out a calculation in his head.

“Or you two take every opportunity possible to put your hands all over each other and didn’t bother to think twice about whether or not to figure out where you were. How has _nothing_ changed between you two still?”

“Soooo much is happening right now,” Beverly said, choosing to sit down. 

“Wuh-what ha-happened to you tuh-two?” Bill asked carefully, looking up and down Eddie and Richie’s bloody clothes.

“We got jumped on the bridge,” Eddie explained quietly. “These guys - what, like five of them?”

“They fucking stabbed us to death. Literally!” Richie exclaimed, throwing his hands up in disbelief. “I have literally been fucking murdered, all within just 24 hours of being back. Not as fun as it sounds. Fan-fucking-tastic, Mikey.”

“But why - ” Ben started, raising a hand up politely like he was in a classroom. “Why are they - why are they all young like this?”

“21 to be exact,” Richie said, pulling out a cigarette. “Fuck, I can’t wait to ruin my lungs again.”

Eddie scowled at the comment, but Bill asked before Eddie could say anything, “How do you know you’re 21?”

Richie pulled one of the pant legs of his jeans up, revealing a fresh scar on his shin. “Got it crashing on my bike riding home. Same day I got the haircut,” he added, pointing to his head.

“Same year I was homeless,” Eddie muttered, making the rest look at him. “I left my mom’s place my last year of college, but it didn’t - it didn’t work out very well. I could barely afford anything but a $10 gym membership I used so I had a place to shower between classes. It was the only time my hair got this long.”

“That was the year I did the ritual!” Mike exclaimed, snapping his fingers. “When I was 21! I wanted to do it to make sure none of us would get killed before we had to come back. So we must… we must be respawning the exact way we were when I did the spell.”

“How sweet,” Richie deadpanned. “You did all that just to make sure we showed up to fulfill our duty of servitude to these grand endeavors?”

“Will this happen every time we die?” Stanley asked. “Forever?”

“Nine times,” Mike clarified. “We started with nine lives between the seven of us to spare.”

Stanley nodded, looking at the others who had respawned. “Ok so one… two… three… right. I’m going to go and off myself about six more times so I can be fucking done with this.”

“ _Stan_ ,” Beverly cried from the chair.

“Fuck!” Richie shouted. “How am I supposed to get a fucking ID? I need a fucking bourbon.”

“Are you seriously going to take advantage of being young again by just drinking and smoking yourself to death?” Eddie chastised.

“No one is fucking killing themselves!” Mike shouted rather hysterically. “We are here for a _reason_ and goddamnit, we are going to _finish_ it!”

“I don’t think I should legally be contracted to do anything I signed as a minor,” Stanley shrugged. “I couldn’t legally consent.”

“Can I say something?” Ben chirped in.

“Puh-puh-please do, Ben,” Bill said, looking thankful.

“Before I left, Beverly mentioned something _extremely_ important,” Ben continued, looking at the three younger Loser’s. “She _knew_ how Stanley was going to kill himself before Patty told us.”

“Wait, what?” Richie exclaimed, catching his cigarette as it felt from his lips. “She knew how Stanley was going to die, is that what you just said?”

“I’ve… I’ve seen us all die,” Bev said quietly.

Eddie was already pacing around frantically, probably on the verge of just snapping at this point. “Ok, so like, what does that mean you’ve _seen us all die_?”

“Yeah, ‘cause I gotta be honest; that’s a fucked up thing to just drop on somebody,” Richie said casually, taking another drag from his cigarette. “Almost as fucked up as dragging us to a space-monster death arena and using magic so we can die over and over again like the fucking Mario Brothers.”

“Nine times, Richie,” Mike said firmly. “It’s only nine deaths total.”

“So, then we know how this is going to turn out, right?” Eddie asked her hopefully. “You can - you can see it like that?”

“How do you even know?” Stanley asked her, narrowing his eyes in confusion. “None of us remembered each other until Mike called.”

“The Duh-duh-deadlights,” Bill explained. “Sh-she saw it th-then.”

“I don’t think what Mike did will make it any better if we don’t stay,” Bev cried silently. “Our deaths were… they were _horrible_. And I think they are going to happen soon if we don’t kill It.”

“So what she’s saying is,” Ben said slowly. “We die here trying to fight this thing…”

“Or die somewhere else and wake up with two twinks humping each other in a bunker,” Stan finished.

“I am not a _twink_ ,” Richie shot at him.

“Maybe not with the dad bod, but now…” 

“How do you know what I looked like? Oh - oh my _god_ , Stanley do you watch my comedy specials?”

“Jesus,” Eddie groaned, still ruddy faced from Stan’s comment. “Guys, please.”

“So now wuh-wuh-what?” Bill finally stammered, getting tired of the back and forth. “Where do we go from here, Mikey?”

“Well, I mean… the plan…” Mike began, pulling out his notebook, full of chaotic doodles and ramblings from over the decades. “Was to go back to where this all started. The sooner, the better.”

There was a heavy silence for a moment, all of them thinking and _dreading_ the answer that was on the tips of their collective tongue. With a final drag of his cigarette, Richie stuck the lit end against his tongue to put it out dramatically. Flicking the butt into the trash can behind the bar, he threw his arm around Eddie’s shoulder.

“Fuck it. Let’s kill this fucking clown.”


	2. In Case of Emergency, Use Stairs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 2!!
> 
> Remember how I said I'm basically rewriting Chap 2? The movie that gave Eddie like 3 scenes of watching his friends almost die while doing nothing? Not my Eddie Kaspbrak.
> 
> Also, while this has a lot of influence of Muchietti's films, I cannot shake the Loser's that I've had pictured in my head since I read the book well over a decade ago. Mike and Eddie were definitely the closest in casting, but I'll be damned if anyone is shorter than Eddie, not in my universe. Sorry McAvoy.
> 
> Anyhoo, please look forward to more work from some other amazing artists and writers! You can check them out early on my tumblr @ fuckbitchesgetreddie to get yourself hyped for their Halloween project fics, coming out by October 30th! They're all perfectly splendid.

Neibolt only had to wait a little bit longer.

Out of concerns that they’d all be awoken naked if they were killed, they had to prep the clubhouse for spontaneous return. After collecting several new outfits and Richie’s only pair of spare glasses (“I can’t even see out of these things! My prescription is all fucked up!”), they packed their supplies and the majority of the group trekked down to the Barrens.

Mike entrusted Bill and Eddie to go into his apartment up in the loft above the library to get his belongings and meet in the clubhouse once they were done. For some reason, the Loser’s were always sure Eddie could navigate where he needed to go, no matter the circumstances, and Mike didn’t hesitate to leave the two of them on their own.

They had taken the little elevator up. It was silly, but both of them had always wanted to ride in the damn thing since they were little, having always been yelled at by the librarians in this place whenever they got too close to it. The small machine was put here so that books could easily be brought up for storage or back down without having to be carried up and down the stairs. It was an old, rusty thing that shivered and moaned all the way up to the loft at the top. In fairness, though, the stairs looked like they’d cave in, even if little Eddie had stepped foot on any of the steps. 

A very old, gray tabby cat greeted them at the entrance of Mike’s little apartment, but seemed to be disappointed that they weren’t who she was expecting. She let out a loud, frustrated meow and trotted off somewhere, giving them some peace to go through Mike’s belongings.

The place was a little cluttered and depressing. Neither of them voiced it, but Eddie and Bill both quietly digested the fact that Mike was here for so many years all on his own, still haunted by the memories of what they went through and knowing that the others were out there, forgetting. If anything, Bill thought, he had hoped that what they did here now would bring Mike peace of mind and the strength to leave this town behind.

Hell, maybe Bill would join him.

Strange things had erupted for Bill when he laid eyes on Mike the first night back. It wasn’t just the nostalgia of being home or the hidden trauma waiting to break through the surface, no; there were feelings there for _Mike_ , things Bill had learned to suppress a long time ago. 

“Do we need more, you think?” Eddie asked Bill after already packing nearly an entire suitcase worth of things.

“N-no, that - that should b-be fine,” Bill chuckled, still looking at his friend in bewilderment. He honestly didn’t know if it was weirder to see Eddie all grown up and aged at the restaurant or this baby-faced young man that Bill never got to know, not that much older than he was when Eddie left Derry and the remaining Loser’s behind before their senior year of high school. There was a pang in his chest when he thought about all the years he had forgotten about his oldest friend, all the years they suffered in unknowing silence apart. Eddie had been devastated to leave Derry, if only because of the friends he was leaving behind. Bill was now able to remember the look of terror on Eddie’s face, clutching to a dufflebag in the passenger’s seat of his mother’s car, looking out through the window where Bill was waving him off with Mike from the sidewalk in front of the Kaspbrak’s house.

Richie hadn’t shown up. Eddie was quietly devastated, barely stopping himself from crying and hiding how much it hurt that Richie couldn’t see him off. He masked it with anger, claiming that Richie was ‘just a fucking shithead’ anyway.

Little did he know that Richie just couldn’t _bear_ to see Eddie go, hiding up in his room and crying into one of Eddie’s sweaters that Richie claimed he had lost.

Bill was now realizing he was rather stupid for not realizing it all back then. Given his own nature hidden away so far deep in his soul, aching to be closer to the homeschooled farm boy he grew to love, he should have known what had been going on between the two of them. Obvious as it was now, Bill wasn’t going to let _all_ of them suffer in the closet.

“So, uh, y-you and T-Trashmouth, eh?”

“Bill, I’m married,” Eddie said firmly.

_So am I_ , Bill thought. “D-didn’t stop you f-from humping Richie in th-the clubhouse.”

“I thought I was dead,” Eddie repeated ruefully. “Honestly, that’s probably going to be my only chance to be happy.”

Bill blinked, concern rising in his chest. “In the c-clubhouse? Or…? Or d-d-do you mean d-dead?” Even more concerning was Eddie’s silence that followed, but Bill took a step forward and took Eddie by the shoulders. “Eddie, l-l-look at m-me. You - you b-both d-d-deserve to be ha-happy. If we - if we get th-through this… You c-can start over. N-n-new face and all.”

“Easy for you to say,” Eddie muttered. “You weren’t just murdered for kissing someone.”

Bill’s face fell but he squeezed Eddie’s shoulders. Given the age difference between their appearance now, he almost felt like a father trying to console his son. Eddie always did feel like a little brother to him, even if Bill was technically a few months younger. “Y-you’re right. I d-d-didn’t. B-but I’ve b-been having a lot of - a lot of - of _shit_ coming back to me here. All th-this shit that’s been b-buried in the b-b-back of my m-mind and sh-shaping how I am with-without realizing. W-we’re all g-g-gonna come out b-better after this. Trust me. B-besides, this - this is D-Derry. It’s a shithole. It - it’ll be b-b-better when we leave.”

It almost didn’t seem to work, Bill feeling almost as if he was just giving himself his own pep talk while Eddie just happened to be here too, but Eddie finally looked up at Bill with a soft, unsure smile. “I hope so.”

“Ohhhhh it’s only going to get worse from here, Billy Boy.”

Both snapped their heads over at Mike’s fridge - which, for some reason, had started emanating a voice; one that was all too familiar.

“Did you forget the last time, Billy? How you let your wee baby brother get caught in the rain and sucked down the drain because you weren’t there to save him? Because you liiiiiiiiiiied to him, hmm?”

“What the fuck…” Eddie mumbled, slowly backing away from the fridge with a vice grip on Bill’s arm. “What is he…?”

The fridge door cracked open, illuminating the small, dark space there with light that shined right on the two of them. Instead of food or condiments stored in Mike’s fridge, there appeared to be a body; a small, twisted up little body in a yellow raincoat.

“G-G-Georgie,” Bill breathed. 

The Not-Georgie’s head lifted from where it was tucked between Its legs, the face rotted and grotesque. It opened Its mouth with a shriek, making Eddie jump back and lodge himself into the far corner while Bill just stared at It helplessly until the head rolled off and bounced towards him on the floor.

“Bill!” Eddie screamed. “Get the fuck away from it!”

Not-Georgie’s head stopped just short in front of Bill, looking up at Bill with sad, milk-white eyes.

“It’s your fault what happened, isn’t it?” It said - echoing the real Georgie’s small, childish voice. It made Eddie’s heart ache to hear it. “You weren’t really sick that morning, were you?”

“What the - Bill, what the fuck?” Eddie shouted again. “Get away from It! We have to go, you dumb fuck!”

“No,” Bill said softly, staring down at the Not-Georgie’s head. “I just - I just p-pretended b-b-because I didn’t wanna p-play with you.”

“You lied,” Not-Georgie said, something protruding out of It’s face - something that looked like a long, twisted stick. “You lied… and I died.”

More bumps formed on Its face, sickly little legs ripping out of the rotting flesh until they curved and reached down to the floor.

“You lied… and I died. You _lied_. And I _died_!”

The voice became more twisted, demonic, and a final leg plucked itself out from It’s eye as it lifted itself off the ground. A malicious grin spread across Not-Georgie’s face, chanting at the fear-stricken Bill as it readied to strike.

No, _fuck that_ , Eddie thought.

Eddie ran forward and kicked the fucker in It’s stupid face, hearing It yelp and hit the opposite wall with a thump.

“Eddie - !”

“Bill, that’s not Georgie!” Eddie screamed at him, grabbing Bill by his sleeve harshly. “For fucks sake, _it has eight legs_!”

A quick scampering echoed in the small space and they both jumped back, looking around at their feet for the thing to pop up somewhere. The exit was on the other side of the apartment and panic was setting in. 

Bill pulled out his cell phone, and Eddie was almost about to start shouting at him until he started talking.

“Mike!” Bill shouted. “It’s here! It - It showed up l-looking like Georgie!”

_“Bill, ignore it!_ ”

“I gotta fucking kill it,” Bill spat, making Eddie look up at him incredulously.

“ _Bill, it’s all a trick! Get Eddie and get_ \- ”

But whatever they were supposed to get wouldn’t be heard, because the Not-Georgie monster sprung out from the top of the fridge, screaming as It leaped towards Bill, who promptly dropped and shattered his phone. He caught It just in time, pulling it back from his face, It’s arms clinging onto the front of his shirt. 

“Eddie!” Bill shouted, backing away to no avail while he tried to pry the damn thing off.

Afraid to touch the thing with his bare hands, Eddie’s dumb germ-obsessed brain reeling at the idea, he ran over to the kitchen counter and yanked off the large butcher knife that had been set there. Bill was still screaming and fell back against the wall while he tried to push the gross thing off of him.

Just as Bill’s arms were starting to give in, Eddie dived forward, throwing his arm back and bringing it down with a heavy thrust into the top of Not-Georgie’s head, a sick plucking sound of breaking skin echoing around them. All of Its legs released their grip on Bill at once, dropping to the ground at their feet where Eddie kicked It again, sending It flying towards the staircase that led downstairs.

“Holy… shit,” Bill gasped, clutching his chest. “Th-thanks, Eddie. Shit.”

Eddie’s hand was still shaking, letting the knife fall to the floor. “We need to get the fuck out of here. Now.”

“Th-th-the elevator,” Bill said. “If it’s - it’s still on the stairs…”

“Yeah, definitely,” Eddie agreed, helping Bill lift himself up from where he was leaning against the wall and making their way to the elevator door. 

Eddie hit the button at least ten times before it opened, desperate to get the hell out of this place and meet back up with their friends. Finally, the door opened up and he dragged Bill in, frantically pressing the Close Door button to leave.

“It’s going to be worse,” Eddie mumbled. “It’s going to be so much worse later. I wonder where it scampered off to. Fuck, we forgot all of Mike’s clothes!”

“Yeah, well - ”

For some reason, Bill paused, and Eddie turned to look at him to see him staring at a spot between them with a look of confusion on his face. Eddie didn’t quite understand until his vision focused where Bill was looking, seeing what looked like a long string of spit. Both their eyes slowly looked up to the source to see the spider-like creature staring down at them once again with It’s sinister grin.

“Oh,” Eddie muttered. “There he is.”

*******

The other two Loser’s that had already ‘respawned’ hung back away from the others, feeling a bit out of sorts still. They’d showered and changed into cleaner clothes (Stanley having to wear some of Bill’s garments), but were still getting strange looks from the others.

“I can’t believe Eddie dyes his fucking hair,” Richie chuckled. 

“He said he went gray before he was twenty,” Stan said, smiling slightly because he knew Richie was using that as an excuse just to _talk_ about Eddie when he wasn’t here with them. “Wouldn’t _you_ fucking fix that?”

“How does that even happen?”

“Because he’s a tiny ball of stress and repressed anger,” Stan said casually. “Not gonna lie, it’s bizarre to see all of them grown up. Seeing you back as a dipshit young adult seems fitting though.”

“You still somehow look like a grandpa, even in Bill’s butch lesbian clothes and your young body. But, I suppose that hasn’t changed,” Richie added with a grin.

Stan rolled his eyes. He was actually very happy to see this Richie, the young fresh-faced kid he wished he had kept in touch with in college. Of course, it wasn’t anyone’s fault considering what happened when they left Derry, but it still sucked. What sucked even more was knowing Richie _and_ Eddie had both been in New York. Eddie had lived in Queens not far from where Stanley finished high school and hell, they had both even gone to NYU. At some point before Stan moved to Georgia with Patty, all three of them had been living in Manhattan, not even realizing it.

This was definitely going to be a strange thing to explain to Patty, showing up at their door after she likely watched his body disappear in the bathtub, looking the same age he was when they had met. He could just remember seconds before he felt himself waking up in the clubhouse, hearing the bathroom door open and a faint gasp. Shortly after, he had probably disappeared from her very sight, leaving her probably feeling like she was going insane.

Probably best not to think about that just yet; not until this was all over. It would be a shame to give her hope of his return when, deep down, he sort of felt like there really wasn’t any, at least not for him.

“So. You and Eddie. Are you two together still?”

“There is no _still_ ,” Richie huffed. “We weren’t - and aren’t - together.”

“Sure as hell looked like it to me,” Stan shrugged. “I’m not just talking about the obscene shit I saw in the clubhouse.”

“Eddie’s married,” Richie muttered, shoving his hands in his pockets grumpily. “To a woman.”

Stan’s playful smirk disappeared. “Oh. I see. I mean… that can be rectified.”

“Rectified…” Richie mumbled. “Likely.”

“Hold up.” Stan stopped in his tracks, not seeming to be worried by the others moving along without them nearby. He turned on his heel and threw his hand up to stop Richie, looking up at him sternly.

“Keep moving, Stan,” Richie told him.

“I could deal with you two bullshitting around when we were kids,” Stan said, ignoring Richie. “And look, I get it. Derry fucking sucks and people would have made you eat shit for it. But I’ll be damned if after forty fucking years on this earth, you’re still too much of a coward to do anything about it now.”

“Hey!” Richie snapped, grabbing Stanley by the shoulder, but Stan threw Richie off without taking his eyes off of him for a second; Richie, who looked like he was in mind to strangle Stanley with his bare hands. 

“You’re really calling _me_ a coward?” Richie hissed through gritted teeth. “You, who had to slit his fucking wrists to avoid being here?”

“That - that is _not_ the same fucking thing!”

“You actually _don’t_ fucking get it, Stan!” Richie spat, throwing his arm up to point directly in Stan’s face. “You had fucking everything! You were gonna throw away a great wife and perfect life for fucking nothing, Stan! Because you couldn’t face this town and you couldn’t fucking face us if you couldn’t show! And now karma brought your ass right here where you belong.”

“Richie, that’s enough!” Stan pleaded, because he _knew_ he had gone too far, pushed just too much too quickly.

“No, it’s fucking bullshit!” Richie kept shouting. “Do you know why we got fucking killed Stanley? Can you take a fucking guess? Because we were _kissing_ . Kissing on the fucking bridge. I got fucking stabbed and beaten to death for that, all while you fucking kill yourself in your perfect family home, so don’t you _dare_ call me a fucking coward again!”

“Hey!” Ben shouted from up ahead. “You guys all right?”

“Ben, can you - can you give us a minute?” Richie pleaded, waiting for Ben to turn around again.

Afraid to speak right away, guilt seeping into him like a poisonous slime in his veins, Stanley almost backed away, wishing he could just pretend this conversation didn’t happen and run back to the group.

But he wasn’t a coward. He couldn’t be.

“I should just go fuck myself,” he muttered.

“You weren’t thinking,” Richie shushed him, much calmer now, putting both hands on Stan’s shoulders. “How can you? It’s not like… like you had this dirty little secret all your life you kept hidden from everyone.”

“It’s not fair,” Stan muttered. “What you guys had to deal with. I mean, we all dealt with shit, but that… it’s 2016. You shouldn’t be getting killed over that shit.”

“No, it’s not fair. But we can’t be taking it out on each other, right? Even if you’re being a dick about it, I know you just want us to be happy.”

Stan almost didn’t say anything for a moment before flinching his shoulders away. “You two aren’t even going to talk about it?”

Damn it, he sure did want to. He wanted to swoop Eddie up and take him out of his shitty life with his shitty wife and - well, frankly, Richie would’ve married him on the spot. That wasn’t going to happen, though. Life wasn’t a fairy tale.

Especially a life when you knew evil shape-shifting entities from multidimensional space tried to eat you.

Richie let out a long, exasperated sigh, shrugging before he made to follow the others deeper into the Barrens. “What’s the point?”

Stan didn’t have a retort for that, but he followed Richie along with the others, taking a mental note that the conversation wasn’t over; he wouldn’t let it be.

A shudder seemed to run through them all in an ominous wave as they entered the club house beneath the ground one by one. Mike had seemed to tear it apart, removing all of their childhood memories that they had stored here. It was eerie and cold now, nothing like they could remember from the good times shared here. All that was left was some old, knit blanket laid along the ground that almost took over the entire floor, a small pewter box in the corner with a little keyhole, and a blood-stained dagger and notebook placed neatly on top of it.

“What did you do with all of our stuff?” Ben asked quietly, silently mourning all the hard work he put into this place many years ago.

“They’re back at my place,” Mike said. “It’s all safe and preserved. I was worried about leaving it down here.”

“It may have helped when I woke up down here to see all of our shit,” Stanley sighed. “Instead it felt like a tomb. I literally thought I was in hell and the Catholics were right.”

“Oh,” Mike mumbled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I didn’t really think of that. I just didn’t want it all to be ruined.”

“It’s fine,” Beverly told him, rubbing his arm softly. “We appreciate you taking care of all of it. It must’ve been hard keeping up with everything all by yourself.”

They placed all their clothes along the walls, neat little piles of bags and clothes separated by just a bit of space between them. Richie and Ben each put down Bill and Eddie’s things along with their own.

“What did you do with the hammock?” Richie asked Mike, his eyes steady in the space where it should’ve been.

“I must’ve thrown that away,” Mike shrugged. “It was just an old tarp hung up on the wood.”

“Right,” Richie nodded solemnly. “Just an old tarp.”

“Can we get going?” Stan blurted. “If we’re going to do this, I want to get it over with.”

“We still have to be careful,” Mike said firmly. “Just because we have extra lives, doesn’t mean we should be wasting them all willy-nilly.”

“Do you think he knows?” Beverly asked quietly. “Pennywise? Do you think he knows what you did?”

“I’m not sure…” Mike murmured. “But it doesn’t matter. He’ll try to trick us, but we have to remember that nothing he’s doing is real! It’s all an illusion.”

“Like biting Georgie’s arm off,” Richie chided. “That was totally a fake-out.”

“Rich,” Beverly scolded.

“I’m just saying! Fucker may have tricks up his sleeve, but I am going in with a healthy dose of fear.”

“Just remember that’s what he feeds off,” Mike told him sternly. “Our fear will make him stronger.”

“What do we do when we even get there?” Ben asked. “All we did last time was…”

“Beat the shit outta him, yeah,” Richie reminisced. “That was quite the experience. Still never made it to the baseball team.”

“But we also showed our strength by fighting together,” Beverly said firmly. “And I think that’s the point in all of us being here together now.”

“You’re right,” Mike nodded. “It’s a battle of wits. All we need - ” His phone started ringing in his pocket and Mike pulled it out, frowning before he picked up. “Bill?”

Mike’s face reeled back from the phone and the others could only hear Bill shouting indistinguishably. Stan tensed up and Richie made his way over quickly, leaning his head down to hear what Bill was saying.

“Bill, ignore it!” Mike shouted, pushing Richie away. “Bill, it’s all a trick! Get Eddie and get - ” He froze just as his phone flashed and the line went dead.

“What the fuck is happening?” Richie demanded.

“Pennywise,” Mike muttered, panic slowly washing over his face. “Pennywise is in the library and Bill - I think Bill is going after It. We - no - I need to go find them.”

“We all need to - ”

“No, you guys stay here!” Mike ordered. “If something happens, if either of them are killed, they’ll show up here!”

“We have to do something!” Richie shouted, but Stan grabbed his shoulder, holding him back.

“If Eddie gets killed, don’t you want to be here to solace him?” Stan reasoned.

“I don’t want him killed, _period!_ Dying fucking _sucks_ , Stanley!”

“I’ll go with Mike,” Ben said, following up the ladder after him. “Stan is right though, Richie. You three should stay here in case something happens to them - or us, ok?”

He shot a look over at Beverly before disappearing up the hatch, leaving her and Stan to calm Richie down. 

“When we get there, you can keep a lookout outside,” Mike told Ben as they ran out of the Barrens as fast as they could. “Shit is gonna get weird and I don’t want some random person walking in on - on god knows what.”

“No, I hear ya,” Ben agreed. “I’ve got ya, Mikey.”

The others tried to make themselves comfortable. There was no telling how long they would be waiting, but after a short while, Richie was finally defeated enough to just sit in a corner. Stan opted to take the notebook off of the box that sat down there, wondering why he hadn’t noticed it the first couple of times he was down here.

“Shit,” he said quietly, pulling something out from the center of the book. “This is all the steps for the ritual. And the key to this box...”

“Is it asking too much to kill Mike just once?” Richie muttered, putting his hand behind his head. “Like, obviously only knowing he’ll pop right back up.”

“Beep beep, Richie,” Beverly sighed. 

“Hey, Bev,” Richie smirked. “You’re not a cougar are you? Because if Ben pops up here looking like a twenty-something college hunk hauling junk, I don’t think you’ll be able to stop yourself.”

“Oh, cut it out,” Beverly chuckled. Richie smiled wider, happy to see some delight on her face again, even over something so silly. “I’m more concerned over seeing Eddie here. Are you going to be able to keep your hands off of him showing up naked again?”

“Circumstantial,” Richie shrugged. “Not gonna happen again, Red. But if _you're_ not going to make a move on Ben…”

“Nice try, but I know your heart is set on the five-six hypochondriac.”

“Five-six my ass. He lies on his driver’s license,” Richie chuckled. He looked over at Stan, who was still engrossed in Mike’s notebook. “Anything interesting?”

“Very…” Stan said, frowning. “I don’t think Mike fully grasped what he was doing with this spell…”

“Well, it works, doesn’t it?” Richie said. “Unless the three of us are going to sprout second heads or some weird shit down the line. My dick’s not gonna fall off, is it?”

Stan said nothing, but he leaned down to open the small box with the key he found. It creaked loudly, obviously not having been opened for a long time, but only dust came out. “Empty… huh.”

“How long do you think they’ll all be?” Beverly asked, looking up at the hatch as if the others would burst in at any moment.

“If we’re lucky, they’ll just get killed and be back here in no time,” Richie reasoned. “Well, at least Bill.”

“Richie,” Beverly sighed. “Stop joking about that. Those are lives we don’t need to waste.”

“Bill ran off like a fucking shithead,” Stan muttered, eyebrows still knit tightly as he skimmed through Mike’s notebook again. “He’s already a waste of life as he is right now, risking Eddie getting killed again.”

“I’m inclined to agree,” Richie nodded.

“Bill may be emotional, but he’s not stupid,” Beverly reasoned. “I’m sure between the four of them, everything is under control.”

*******

“ _HolyshitHolyshitHolyshitHolyshit_!” Eddie was shouting, one of his arms around Bill’s leg and another yanking his waist away from the shifting elevator shaft.

Ok, so it probably wasn’t the brightest idea for either of them to ride in the confined space of an elevator after Eddie stabbed the shape-shifting monster. It was probably pissed enough that they had escaped twenty-seven years ago and now Eddie had only exacerbated the issue by shoving a knife into It.

The creature made itself known just when the doors opened again. Eddie had just stumbled out the door, falling to his knees as he did so, but Bill was grabbed by the Not-Georgie spider. It’s nasty legs wrapped around his neck as the shaft started moving up. Eddie desperately had gotten up to pull Bill out, but now he was in a position where it may not have been possible to safely pull him out or push him back in.

“Bill, I might need to let go!” Eddie shouted.

“ _Don’t you dare fucking let go_!” Bill shouted, both of his arms pressing against the moving contraption, one of his feet kicking up against it to push himself away.

But the elevator was moving up and the Not-Georgie’s grotesque legs were still wrapped too tightly around Bill’s head. Eddie really didn’t want to let go, he didn’t want his friend to be abandoned, but the shaft moved up and was pressing Bill’s neck up against the ceiling and Eddie knew this was only going to end one way, squeezing Bill tightly around his legs. 

The noise elicited from Bill was guttural and horrific, especially when mixed with the soft crunching Eddie could hear from his neck. He didn’t think to stop pulling, and he didn’t realize his mistake until he fell back with Bill’s body dropping heavily on top of him onto the ground. 

*******

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come in with you?” Ben asked before Mike ran in.

“No, just stay here. If no one comes out in… five minutes,” Mike decided, taking a look at his watch. “Yeah, five minutes. Then come check on us, ok?”

“Sure thing,” Ben agreed, still eyeing the dark library with concern. It seemed strange that the front door was open. Neither Bill nor Eddie were likely to do that, but he tried not to dwell on it. If Bill was stupid enough to chase after It, he could’ve been stupid enough to leave the front door open.

Mike ran in as quickly as he could, rushing over to where the elevator and stairs were. His heart plummeted in his chest when he was met to see poor Eddie, sitting in a pool of blood, covered in much of it as well, delicately arranging parts of Bill’s corpse.

“His - his body isn’t disappearing,” Eddie cried, gently trying to prop Bill’s head onto his neck as Eddie held his torso up, still spurting blood and viscera profusely from the twitching veins and arteries from the top of Bill’s severed muscles and bone. “What if - what if everything has to be intact for this to work?”

Mike looked down in horror as Eddie - bless him - couldn’t quite deal with his childhood friend’s decapitated figure, desperately trying to balance Bill’s drooping head onto his body. 

“Eddie, just give it a minute. I know you’re trying to help but I don’t think - ”

Whatever Mike was going to say was spoken against the blade that was now thrust against his tongue, puncturing his cheek and spilling blood down his throat, trapping his words entirely. For a moment, he could forget about Bill’s body being crudely put together like Lego pieces by Eddie down beside him. He reached up and felt the handle of the knife that was shoved through his face, turning to see a giggling man just behind him.

“ _What_?” Mike sputtered, spilling more blood out of his mouth.

“It’s your time, Mikey!” the man laughed cruelly. 

Mike knew that laugh. That laugh had haunted him on many nights, one of the many non-supernatural horrors he had experienced in this town before he ever even knew Pennywise. Before he could process what was happening, Henry lunged forward, knocking Mike to the ground, his hands around Mike’s throat as he choked on his own blood, desperately reaching up to push Henry off of him.

It was to no avail, Henry seeming to possess some kind of supernatural strength about him, yanking the knife out of Mike’s cheek with a sickening _squelch_ and shoving it down right into the base of Mike’s throat.

Eddie had been sobbing so loudly that the sound of it filled him entirely, unable to lose focus on this fruitless task of mending his friend together. His hands were pressed so firmly around Bill’s temples that they clapped together when Bill’s body vanished beneath him, his clothes falling limply and empty to the ground. Eddie choked on a gasp at the sight, staring incredulously down at it, only to be snapped out of his astonishment by Mike collapsing to the ground in front of him.

He wasn’t quick enough, scurrying to his feet and kicking one of his Gucci loafers straight into Henry’s face just after he pressed his knife down into Mike’s neck. (God, these things would be _ruined_ by the end of the day with the amount of faces he's kicked). His body was thrown back off of Mike and Eddie froze in fear, stuck in his decision to go after Henry or help Mike, not knowing which would be more prudent given the circumstances.

In all fairness, Mike would come back.

“Shit,” Eddie muttered, looking around him desperately and ignoring Mike’s bloody gurgling and gagging sounds. His eyes caught sight of a garbage can just a few feet away, an empty Perrier bottle sitting just on top.

“Time to float, Eddie!” Henry cackled just as Eddie dived towards the bottle.

Just as his hand grasped the neck of the glass, Henry had tackled Eddie to the ground, his chin smacking the pavement audibly. Henry grabbed the arm attached to the hand that was still clinging to the Perrier, digging his knee into Eddie’s back as he twisted Eddie’s arm up unnaturally. The wave of horrible nostalgia washed over Eddie, the memory of this near-exact situation blipping into his brain the second it happened.

A loud, sickening _snap_ echoed in the small space. Eddie’s grip loosened and the Perrier fell, cracking a bit without breaking, and rolled along the ground as Eddie cried out in pain. All he could hear now was Henry’s laughing. 

The cold glass touched his slack arm still laying on the ground. On instinct, Eddie grabbed the bottle again, flipping himself over with all his strength to smack the bottle in Henry’s face.

Henry’s blood dripped down onto his face and all Eddie could think was _fuck I’m gonna get AIDS I’m gonna get some disease some sick thing he’s carrying in his blood_. Henry laughed and spat down at him but Eddie still had the bottle in his good arm, broken and jagged in his hand and he thrust it up into Henry’s belly, twisting it up and hoping it ruptured something so horribly that Henry wouldn’t last much longer.

More blood came out of Henry’s face, pouring out from his bottom lip from where Eddie had punctured his insides. His body was heavy, but Eddie managed to roll him off, spitting up all of Henry’s blood and spit from his own face. 

Both Mike and Bill’s bodies were gone, their clothes now just bloody piles on the ground. Eddie almost wanted to wretch thinking about what he had tried to do with Bill’s body now that he could think more clearly, remembering that he just had to go back to the clubhouse to find him. Perhaps the others were there still, just waiting for one of their dumb asses to pop up down there.

Regardless of the now resurrected bodies of his friends elsewhere, Eddie had a huge issue and he needed to deal with it as soon as possible. His arm was already numb, probably from all the adrenaline, but Eddie was anticipating the pain to come back with a vengeance, looking at how awkwardly the bone in his arm stuck out. One of the others might be able to patch it up for him, since going to the hospital would likely be a bad idea, considering Eddie was covered in three different people’s blood.

With a heavy sigh, Eddie turned back to his childhood bully, feeling almost proud of himself if not just a bit shaking up. The problem, though, was that Henry was gone.

Only his clothes remained.

“Oh… fuck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've made it this far, I seriously can't thank you enough for trying to experience this because... wow.
> 
> Don't forget to check out and subscribe/follow the artists/writers involved in HallowRen's Spooktacular IT Project!  
> Happy Scares, everyone!


	3. Mistakes Were Made

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back! Thank you for tuning into another exciting adventure of The Losers All Share the Same Braincell.
> 
> Don't forget, check out the wonderful artists and writers on my pinned Halloween Project post on tumblr @ fuckbitchesgetreddie ! They're all incredible and will be sharing amazing work next week.
> 
> I do start to add a bit more from the book itself, but I do hope you enjoy! <3

When Richie and Stan had woken up, they had immediately been whole and intact, looking down to see fully formed bodies attached to them. Quite honestly, there was a silent consensus that the newly spawned bodies would just kind of… pop up there in the clubhouse in a cartoonish sort of way. Richie had even given it a sound effect in his mind. As it turned out, the truth was much more horrific.

“You guys ever seen Hellraiser?” Richie muttered, an attempt to add some levity to the terror shared between the three of them as they watched the grotesque scene in the center of the room.

The bones came first, rising from ash like yeast in dough; they were wet and gooping as they elongated and formed into the skeleton, large enough for them to know it wasn’t Eddie, but too small to be Mike or Ben. Beverly let out a shriek as tentacle-like veins and muscle fibers wrapped themselves around the form, organs bursting up like popcorn kernels in the center cavity of it. The sounds were surfeit, _popping_ and _squelching_ and _crackling_ loudly in the confined space of the clubhouse.

“Jesus, it sounds so _moist_ ,” Richie groaned, trying to repress a gag.

“Please never use that word again,” Stan pleaded.

Grosser still was the smell emanating from it as the details formed, eyeballs pushing out of the closed lids as they grew there, hair and nails sprouting from the fresh, raw skin.

“You know, technically it doesn’t make sense that we remember,” Stan suddenly said. “Like, if we’re coming back as 21-year-olds, our brains haven’t developed all the other memories yet, so don’t you think - ”

“Stanley, shut the fuck up,” Richie shook his head in bewilderment. “This is magic and weird space shit, nothing makes sense. _Are you even watching this?_ ”

“Can you _smell_ it,” Beverly gagged, reeling back as much as she could. “I’ll never eat pork again…”

All three yelped when Bill gasped, shooting up where he sat in the middle of the clubhouse. He clutched his neck, taking in deep, heaving breaths. He came back just as the others did, young and fresh-faced.

“Here, Bill,” Beverly cried, grabbing some of his clothes and running over to him. “You’re ok! You’re back!”

“J-J-Jesus Christ,” Bill cried, his eyes bugging out like mad. “Th-that was - was awful.”

“Yeah, dying isn’t a picnic,” Richie nodded. “Maybe remember this next time before you attempt to chase after the clown on your own.”

“It - It was Georgie,” Bill told him. “I - I wasn’t - ”

“It’s ok, Bill,” Beverly shushed. “We all understand.”

“I d-d-didn’t die,” Bill continued, all his limbs shaking. “Not - not right away. M-my head… I j-just s-s-stopped feeling everything and - and then - I c-c-could still _see_. I w-w-wasn’t really aware unt-t-til now, but I j-just watched Eddie - ”

“Wait, what?” Richie grimaced.

“Rats are still aware of their surroundings after cranial removal from the rest of their body,” Stan said quietly. “At least for a while. So if Bill was decapitated, I guess he technically didn’t die right away.”

“Faaaaaaaaaantastic,” Richie sang with a hysterical sort of laugh that was absent of any real humor.

“M-M-Mike,” Bill said. “He - he was there?”

“Yeah, he went to get you after you called,” Beverly explained. “We - _ah_!”

Beverly jumped up, something wet on the spot where she had been kneeling next to Bill, who was quick to follow her up and cover himself with his pants.

“Oh _shit,_ ” Richie hissed. “Who the fuck did you get killed, Bill?”

“Not Eddie!” Stan shouted reassuringly as the body grew much too large to be their smallest friend.

“Wh-what - the _hell_?” Bill gasped at the sight in the middle of the clubhouse.

As the skin formed and stretched around, they could see it darkening with each new layer.

“Dumbass, you got Mike killed!” Stan grumbled at Bill, staring at the fresh body forming before them.

“Bill, just - just put your pants on,” Beverly sighed, looking all sorts of distressed and completely _done_ with everything going on.

“R-r-right,” Bill muttered, quickly getting into his jeans. 

None of them had anything from Mike to wear, not when they had been waiting for Eddie and Bill (or _Ben_ , more likely now) to bring back his stuff. Stan quickly grabbed some clothes from Ben’s pile before leaning down next to the sickly, death-scented, bloating figure of Mike.

“Fuck!” Mike shouted the second he shot up.

“Hey, hey, you’re good!” Stan quickly assured him, grabbing Mike’s heaving shoulder and thrusting Ben’s clothes in his lap.

“And _looking_ good, Mikey,” Richie said. “Stellar goatee.”

Mike absently reached up to his face to stroke his beard, but he started looking around him as if he was expecting someone else to pop up behind him. “Bowers… Bowers was in the library.”

“ _Henry_ Bowers?” Beverly piped. “Please tell me it was just - Pennywise, right?”

“I don’t think so,” Mike continued gravely, gently rubbing his neck as he shifted to get into some pants. “Fucker stabbed me in the neck. Not exactly the clown’s MO. He was still in his Juniper Hill clothes…”

“So out of the five of us,” Richie sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose under his frames. “Only one of us was actually killed by the goddamn clown we’re supposed to be using these lives for.”

“Mike,” Stan said sternly, standing up with Mike as he stood to button his pants. “What does _any lives taken among them_ mean?”

“What?” Mike frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“Your notebook,” Stan stressed, shaking the little journal in front of Mike’s face. “That’s what it says in your ritual. I have a _lot_ of pressing concerns with you, Mike.”

“G-give him a m-minute, will ya?” Bill butt in, resting a hand on Mike’s shoulder. “We’re a little j-j-jarred right now, Stan.”

“Oh, you’ve got to be _fucking kidding me_!” Richie exclaimed, pointing down at the ground where another person was forming.

“Shit,” Beverly hissed.

“It’s too small to be Ben,” Richie growled, staring angrily at Bill.

“It’s t-too big to be Eddie…” Bill pointed out, making them all turn their heads to the spot.

Mike frowned. “What the hell…”

*******

Trekking through the Barrens while covered in three other men’s blood was not exactly a field day for Eddie Kaspbrak, who was the kind of person to go barefoot through deep puddles so he wouldn’t get his socks wet. His hair, now long enough to do so, stuck against his forehead and ears with sticky, cold blood, soaked and hardened curls sticking up at the sides. At least Ben was with him, helping carry the trunk of Mike’s things and the burden of knowing Henry Bowers was going to be manifesting inside the clubhouse with the rest of the Losers. Prior to leaving the library, Ben had been able to fix Eddie up in a makeshift sling for his arm; a small repayment for Eddie patching Ben up in the alleyway when they were children.

“This doesn’t make sense,” Ben was saying as they hurried back. “Mike said it was able to work with us all because of the blood pact. Am I missing something?”

“Ben, it’s all witchcraft and blood magic and bullshit,” Eddie grumbled. “I think it is beyond any of our basic understanding of anything. Mike must’ve fucked it up. Wait a minute…” Eddie froze, throwing his good arm up to stop Ben as well. In the absence of their leaf-crunching and twig-snapping through the woods, faint shouting could be heard not far from them.

“Shit,” Ben muttered.

They both took off as fast as they could, Ben struggling with the suitcase while Eddie tried not to trip over onto his fucked up arm. Soon enough they came to see Stan and Richie hovering over the hatch of the clubhouse beneath, Richie trying to clean up what looked like thick scratch marks on Stan’s cheek. Richie looked up when they approached, his eyes widening comically behind his thick lenses as he looked at Eddie’s blood-stained clothes and body.

“Holy shit, Eds - ”

“None of it is mine, I’m fine - !” Eddie gasped out a choking sound when Richie collided into him, squeezing him so tight his back cracked.

“We are _not_ separating again!” Richie cried, not the least bit concerned about pressing Eddie’s bloody face into his chest. “I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

“Richie, I’m fine!” Eddie grumbled, cheeks squished up against Richie’s shirt, doing his best to keep his broken arm from getting crushed. “Can you let me breath?”

“Stan, your face,” Ben pointed out, kneeling down to where Stan was still bleeding.

“Unpleasant gift from a surprise guest,” Stan sighed, pointing down the hatch, where they could still hear arguing and faint scuffling. “Bowers came back.”

“Yeah, we figured when he disappeared,” Eddie said, finally free from Richie’s grasp (though he still had a protective vice grip on Eddie’s shoulder).

“Who got him?”

“I did. Stuck him with a broken Perrier bottle.”

“That is the gayest way I’ve ever heard of killing someone,” Stan smirked, eyeing Richie’s hand on his shoulder.

“Fuck off or I’ll stab you next,” Eddie muttered, peering down into the clubhouse. “Everyone ok?”

“Eddie?” Bill called up.

“Are you and Ben ok?” Bev shouted.

“We’re fine!” Ben told them. “Eddie’s arm is broken, but it’s fine. Where’s Bowers?”

“We’ve… we’ve got him here.”

“Mike…” Ben sighed, resting his hands on his knees in exasperation. “ _Why_ is Henry back?”

“Because he wasn’t fucking thinking,” Stan bit, getting up and wiping his cheek.

They made their way back down, Eddie carefully clinging to Richie’s back as he climbed down the ladder. Both Ben and Eddie were a little in awe at Mike and Bill’s younger forms, but all stopped to look at a now 23-year-old Henry, who was crudely tied up with some of their clothes in the corner, struggling against Bill and Mike’s grip. Even with something shoved in his mouth, Eddie could distinctly hear Henry call him a _faggot_ against the fabric, eyes bulging like a maniac.

“The real tragedy, I think,” Richie began. “Is the mullet. Seriously dude, it’s been like thirty fucking years.”

“Bit of a surprise,” Beverly said needlessly to the new arrivals. 

“W-we had to wrestle a v-very upset and c-confused Henry,” Bill said.

“Didn’t hesitate to continue to try to kill me,” Mike mumbled, helping Bill push Henry back as he tried to get up again. “But, big problem. We can’t kill him.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Richie scoffed. Tired of watching them scuffle, he picked up a piece of wood, long fallen from the foundations of the clubhouse, and swung it straight into Henry’s head to knock him out.

“Th-thanks, Trashmouth,” Bill panted, wiping his brow and letting Henry fall over. “F-fucker bit me.”

“Now you and Stan need tetanus shots.”

“How did this even happen?” Eddie asked Mike.

Mike sheepishly looked over at Stan, who had still been holding onto his journal. “This… I might’ve misunderstood some of the instructions.”

“What do you mean?”

“It means,” Stan started frustratingly. “We’ll come back, but apparently so will any lives _we_ take.”

“ _What_?” Ben exclaimed.

“ _A_ _ny lives taken among them_ ,” Stan repeated. “That’s what it says. So all of us and all the lives we take come back here.”

“Ok, well… so we just leave him here until we’re done, right?” Eddie asked hopefully.

“Sounds dandy,” Richie piped in. “Except one _very_ big issue.”

“We have to kill fucking Pennywise,” Beverly said, her words heavy. 

“Oh _fuck_ ,” Eddie gasped.

“Well, how the hell is this supposed to work then?” Ben demanded, looking at Mike for answers. “As long as we have lives left - ”

Ben froze. There it was. An unspoken knowledge they all now realized; if Pennywise was going to be killed, they had to use the other lives first, or else risk It being reborn here in their sacred underground fortress shared as children. They looked amongst each other, all probably wondering the same thing.

Who next?

“Can’t we just keep killing Bowers?” Richie suggested.

“I’m not doing that again…” Eddie muttered, his face dark. “I don’t care how much he bullied me. I don’t want to take a life again. Not from a person. He’s… still a person.”

“A person with evil living in his head…” Beverly whispered.

“W-w-which could be g-gone once the c-clown is dead,” Bill said gravely. “Eddie h-has a point.”

“Fuck,” Richie blurted. “Are we really going to humanize this motherfucker? After all the shit he used to do to us?”

“He _is_ human, Richie,” Eddie reminded him. “We were all just kids. Even him.”

“What’s the other option?” Stan asked earnestly. “Kill ourselves? _Again_?”

“Technically…” Mike said slowly, looking over to his right. “That… is an option…”

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Beverly asked, narrowing her eyes back at Mike.

“Because you and Ben are the only ones that haven’t died yet,” Eddie said quietly.

“That would be kind of fair,” Mike nodded sadly.

“Bullshit,” Ben piped immediately, stepping closer to her protectively. “No one is laying a finger on Beverly.”

“So, you then?” Stan asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“No, I - _why_ can’t we kill Bowers? I mean, if he’s just going to come back anyway?”

“It makes _us_ less human,” Eddie said. “But by all means, Ben, if it’ll make you feel better, you can do the honors.” His voice was quiet, but the statement felt profound in it’s meaning, the idea of mindlessly taking human life out of spite or vengeance. 

Richie threw his head back and let out a loud, audible groan. “Fuuuuck, _fine_. No killing without consent.”

“What if we draw straws?” Beverly suggested.

“No way,” Stan huffed. “How is that fucking fair? _We_ all had to die.”

“ _Had_ to?” Beverly bit back. “You _had_ to, Stan?”

He frowned back at her, but Richie stepped in to Stan’s defense. “Ok, no more picking on Stan for trying to kill himself. That’s for best-friends-since-we-shat-our-diapers only, meaning me. Honest to god, considering the circumstances, it was a pretty fucking reasonable reaction.”

Beverly gapped at him while Stan stared in awe, both of them a little lost for words. Even more shocking was Richie then saying, “Now I for one know I’m _shit_ at killing myself, so I opt out of the short straw bullshit anyway. Didn’t work in ‘02, don’t expect to be any better at it now, ‘cause I’ll just fuck it up.”

“No one is going to ask you to, Rich,” Mike assured him softly, smiling down at Eddie snaking the fingers of his good arm into Richie’s slightly shaking hand. It seemed to calm Richie back down a bit.

“I’ll do it.”

Six heads turned to Ben, looking grave but determined.

“Are you sure?” Beverly asked him.

“Fuck it,” Ben sighed. “Let’s just… do this.”

“How, uh,” Bill cleared his throat. “H-how’d you like to…?”

Ben paused, closing his eyes for a brief moment and taking in his decision. “Got any rope?”

*******

Straws were drawn, but it was to determine who would come with Ben so he did not have to face his demise alone and who would babysit Henry to keep him from running off. After Richie drew to stay behind in the clubhouse, he firmly told the others Eddie would be staying with him; no straws. No one argued. Especially not when Beverly went along with Ben, following the other Losers up to the familiar cliff they jumped from as children.

“Well, this will be fun…” Ben mumbled, staring down into the quarry as he tied some rope to a large cement brick. “Always wondered what this would be like…”

“Yeah, t-tell us all ‘bout it later,” Bill grimaced. 

“Wait,” Beverly said suddenly. “Let me do it, too.”

“Bev, you don’t have to,” Stan said, looking at her with concern. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like you did.”

“It’s only fair,” she said firmly, looking at the younger-looking ones of the group sadly. “We still have a life to spare if we need it in the cistern after. We don’t want to risk leaving any more for Pennywise. Besides… Losers gotta stick together, right?”

Mike, Bill, and Stan hugged them both before helping sit Beverly down, but allowed her to tie the rope herself for the sake of participating in their deaths as little as possible. 

“This is gonna be hard,” Mike told Bill and Stan quietly. “We should walk back once they jump. Eddie was… a mess after seeing you like that, Bill. I’m not quite over it myself.”

“Yeah, don’t wait up,” Ben muttered, feeling his heart practically beating out of his chest as he scooted towards the edge of the cliff with Beverly. “Oh, Jesus…”

“Hey.”

He looked up and somehow felt his erratic heart slow to a near halt when he met the cool green of Beverly’s eyes, staring back at him and sparkling. She held out her hand to him and he took it without hesitation. 

Hand in hand, it wasn’t _as_ terrifying to plummet to their deaths (though terrifying it still was). It wasn’t until he crashed through the harsh surface of the water that Ben released his hand from Beverly’s on instinct. His arms attempting to swim up to no avail with the cement weighing them down, somehow much heavier while treading water and their impending demise.

In a foolish attempt to speed up the process, Ben tried to take in a gulp of water, trying to let it fill his lungs, but his body rejected it, jerking violently until a gentle hand found him again.

Somehow in her calm, Beverly was _smiling_. 

If only he could ask her _why_ , he thought as he stared at her, red hair dancing around her vibrantly as she reached her hand up to grab Ben by the collar and pull him in close. Against her lips, feeling the slight tug of them pulling into a delighted smile, he could finally forget what they were doing down here in the first place.

*******

“S-so you’re a c-cat person?” Bill asked casually as they walked back to the clubhouse, hoping to steer the subject briefly away from the fact that two of their friends were drowning to death. “I always k-kinda pictured you with a b-big brute of a d-dog.”

Mike chuckled, looking over at Bill fondly while Stan buried his face in Mike’s notebook again. “It was the least I could do. She was wandering around the clubhouse all by herself. I must’ve had her for… god, a long time now. I was going to take her in somewhere, but I had… her sister was dead, and she was all alone so I took her in myself. Least I could do…”

Neither noticed that Stan seemed to fall back a bit behind them, becoming lost in his own thoughts.

“W-what did you n-name her?”

Mike looked sheepish at the question, causing him to look even younger than he already appeared in his new body. “Uh… Silver. Her name is Silver.”

A choking noise came out of Bill’s mouth as his words got stuck in his throat, sputtering up nothing else but spit. Even many feet behind them, Stan rolled his eyes at the sheer stupidity of the two men in front of him. Between the seven of them, there somehow seemed to be a single brain cell shared, and Stan seemed to be the only one possessing it while all these idiots tried coping with their _pining_.

“Th-th-that’s a - that’s a n-nice name,” Bill finally got out after a moment, wishing to hide the ruddiness in his face which he felt burning terribly on his cheeks.

“Mike,” Stan piped in, making the other two jump. “What are we going to do once we get to the lair?”

All else gone from his face now except the earnestness of the situation, Mike nodded firmly and looked ahead, walking steadfast to the clubhouse where Beverly and Ben would appear again.

“We finish what we started. The Ritual of Chud.”

*******

Down to the cistern they went; one in front of the other, trusting a quivering but determined Eddie to lead the way with the compass he seemed to have inside his head. Richie stayed close behind him at all times, carefully helping him navigate any difficult maneuvers with his slung-up arm.

Ben’s cheeks were plump and bare of stubble, but his body was lean, showing the beginning efforts of losing the weight of his youth. Beverly walked along just beside him, hand in hand, the longer hair she wore in her own younger years pulled back in a messy bun out of her face. Outwardly, she appeared more distraught over having bangs than anything else, but she had woken to see fresh-looking marks on her skin from an old flame in college; a long, never ending cycle of destructive relationships.

With a new body and new heart, now once again full of love she felt so strongly for these six men at her side, she silently vowed that the cycle was irreparably broken.

"I can't believe I wasted time with this fucking curse," Mike said. "All of that just to waste the lives before we get here."

"We still have one left," Stan reminded him. "Besides, had it not been for you, I wouldn't be going back home to my wife after all of this, so... thanks."

Mike smiled sadly at him, Bill clapping a hand firmly on Stan's shoulder.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this shit again,” Ben muttered, his grip on Beverly’s hand tight as they were coming out of a long pipe. She was just about to say something herself when they collided heavily into the group in front of them.

“What the hell?” Stan huffed, pushing himself away from where he was pressed into the back of Richie’s frozen frame.

“Guys, what’s wrong?” Mike called ahead.

“Someone else is here…” Richie whispered, he and Eddie staring off ahead into the center of the cistern, glowing an eerie green.

The others peered around them to see what looked to be a Splash of solid rock spraying from the ground, as if frozen in time from something crashing into the center of it. On the ground near it was a man’s body, much too hidden in shadow to be seen in detail, and above him appeared to be a woman floating, frozen there in midair with wide, white-milk eyes. All of them were silent as they stared up at the bizarre scene until Bill let out an audible gasp.

“Audra!” Bill shouted, pushing his way through the throng of his group, running out to the Splash. “ _Audra_!”

“Bill, stop fucking chasing It!” Richie shouted, throwing an arm up firmly to stop Eddie from running after Bill. “It’s not real!”

“Richie,” Beverly gasped, looking up at the woman in terror. “That’s - she’s been caught in the Deadlights. Richie, I think that’s really her!”

“ _Hey_!” Bill shouted up at the Splash. “Wake up, you piece of shit!”

“For fucks sake!” Richie groaned.

“Mike!” Eddie shouted, pointing to the center of the Splash, way below where Bill was screaming. “What the _fuck_ are those?”

“Are those - are those fucking - ?” Ben stammered.

“Jesus _Christ_!” Stan exclaimed. “He - she - _It_ \- laid _fucking eggs_!”

“Fan _fucking_ tastic!” Richie shouted.

“That wasn’t part of the plan, Mikey!” Eddie bellowed at him.

“Keep an eye on Bill!” Mike demanded, a mixture of terror and fury on his face. “I’m going to crush them. There’s no way in hell I’m letting any of those hatch!”

“I’ve got ya, Mike,” Ben told him, running down with him towards the scene. 

The light - that horrible, dreadful green light that somehow gave them all a queasy feeling - grew brighter and more terrible, and Bill’s body froze, arms dangling limply to his sides, staring up at the sourceless glow above him where his wife was drifting.

“Eddie, wait!” Richie shouted, grabbing Eddie firmly around the waist as he started to dash towards Bill again. Both of them slid down as Eddie tried to fight against him to go after Bill.

“Richie, he needs _help_!” Eddie shouted, struggling against Richie’s grasp. 

“He’s not caught in the Deadlights!” Stan pointed out, pressing his own hand on Eddie’s chest to push him back. “Eddie, don’t you remember? He’s fighting It!”

“Battle of wills,” Beverly nodded, staring helplessly down at the chaos below them.

“Great fucking show,” Richie muttered, easing Eddie back as best as he could. “We watch Fucknut McGee stand there drooling while Mike and Ben make omelets. I don’t even get to hit anything with a bat.”

“Richie, Bill might fucking need us!” Eddie shouted back up at him. “One of us should go down there and help!”

A loud cackling filled the damp cavern, familiar and horrible to them all, as Bill collapsed to his knees, his arms tensed out and shaking as if having a seizure.

The danger of Bill’s situation was made clear enough. Richie cursed under his breath, throwing all his instincts away to chase after his himbo-ass friend, thrusting Eddie into Stan’s arms.

“Do _not_ let him go!”

“ _Richie!_ ” Eddie screamed after him, voice hoarse.

“Don’t!” Beverly and Stan both shouted, holding Eddie firmly, who looked on the verge of tears now.

“Hey, fuckface!” Richie shouted, throwing a rock up at nothing, unclear of where he _should_ be aiming, knowing this - this _thing_ was just lights and space and bullshit floating around him right now. “Come on out you sloppy bitch! You fucking scared of me you bitch ass clown? Yippee ki yay, motherfu - !”

Richie’s limbs dropped like deadweight, his expression briefly frozen as he swayed there next to Bill, lost in the dimension there with him.

“Ben! Mike!” Beverly shouted, still struggling to keep Eddie still with Stan, tears filling her eyes at the idea of this battle being lost. “Please, _please_ tell me you’re close!”

“We’re trying!” Ben shouted, his voice strained and exhausted. “There’s so many of them!”

Like Bill just before him, Richie collapsed down to his knees, but he let out a shrill cry, as if some invisible tortuous pain was overcoming him.

“ _Richie!_ ” Eddie screamed, tears streaming down his face as he cried out desperately. “ _Richie!_ Let fucking go of me! He needs our help!”

“Only when we have to!” Beverly told him. “We can’t risk us all going at once! We all would’ve been dead if it hadn’t been for you watching out from the outside, remember?”

Out of the glow, It’s horrible legs emerged, spidery and slimy, a horrible shriek escaping what they imagined to be a mouth under It’s many eyes, boring into the two souls it had before it. With a physical form of It materializing at last, Stan and Beverly attempted to reel back, trying to pull Eddie along with them.

Beverly’s words echoed in Eddie’s head. That’s when Eddie had an idea - a horrible, awful idea that a sane person would never follow through with. But of course, a sane person would never dream to use something as silly as his _imagination_ , yielding a weapon of no real power except for what Eddie _believed_ it to have, something that had saved his friends many years ago, just as Beverly had said. 

At risk of it all going wrong, Eddie was going to use the last life they had to spare.

“Fuck this,” Eddie muttered, throwing his broken arm out of it’s sling and into Stan’s throat, forcing him to let go of Eddie as he fell back, not having been watching or expecting Eddie’s bad arm.

There was probably supposed to be pain, Eddie’s weak limb falling to his side with the bit of bone still sticking out from his sweater sleeve through some old bandages Ben had wrapped it in, damning away all other thoughts that weren’t _save Richie_. 

Like an old cowboy reaching for his gun holster, Eddie whipped out his inhaler and thrust it towards one of It’s many eyes, standing firm in It’s presence.

“Eat battery acid, fucknuts!”

Eddie pressed firmly down on the trigger, spraying directly into the large eye before him; It let out another shriek, a genuine cry of agony as Eddie watched the liquid start to melt away the tissue in It’s large socket.

_It’s working!_ Eddie thought gleefully. _It’s working!_

He stepped closer again, aiming right down It’s throat as it screamed out in apparent torment, triumph and hubris swelling in Eddie’s chest. As It’s legs gave out, much like his friends had moments ago, Eddie screamed into It’s face in victory, knowing what was coming next as It’s large mouth clamped down on his shoulder, far too deep to have been missed by It’s teeth.

It came as no surprise that Eddie’s victory screamed mutated into that of a cry out in pain, instinctively pulling himself away and ripping his arm right off his shoulder with a sickening crunch of bone.

As if he wasn’t covered in enough blood already, more of it pooled through his shirt as he fell back, clutching the wound as his legs gave out beneath him. Something soft caught his fall midway and helped lower him down.

“Eddie, you fucking asshole!” Richie gasped down at him.

“R-Richie,” Eddie mumbled, unable to stop a stupid grin from spreading on his face.

“Bill pulled It out,” Richie cried softly, shifting Eddie to lay comfortably on his lap. “Bill pulled It out and you thought you were gonna go all Clint Eastwood on the motherfucker.”

“We still gotta fight It,” Mike said, now standing at Stan’s side, he and Bev hovering closely over where Eddie and Richie laid. “Ben is getting the rest of the eggs. We can kill It!”

“Great, can you kill me first?” Eddie moaned pathetically, his mind dizzy from blood loss. 

“He’s in a lot of pain,” Richie said softly, one of his tears falling to Eddie’s forehead where Bill or Mike’s or maybe Henry’s blood was still stained there.

“We gotta do it quickly,” Beverly said, looking back anxiously at the Splash.

“Mike, you’re positive it’s nine _extra_ lives, right?” Stan asked cautiously. “This is the last _extra_ life?”

“Yes, yes, extra!” Mike nodded fervently. “I promise, I read over that part for over a year! I made sure I had that all down before the sacrifice, I didn’t want to perform it without knowing for sure!”

“Sacrifice?” Stan repeated, gripping Mike’s shoulder harshly. “What - what sacrifice?”

“The cat,” Mike said impatiently. “I had to perform the spell and finish with the cat, the symbol of nine lives, before I laid it in the box - look, I didn’t _want_ to - ”

“The cat!” Stan shouted, his eyes bulging out of his head as he shot up to his feet. “Mike, _the fucking cat_! Silver?!”

“It wasn’t Silver!” Mike shouted, confused and scared. “Silver was another stray, she was looking for her sister!”

“Mike, _the box was empty_!” Stan screamed at him hysterically. “There weren’t any fucking bones in there!”

“Stan,” Richie croaked, the horror of the situation etched along his face. “Are you - are you saying - ?”

“Oh god,” Mike whispered, looking desperately down at Eddie bleeding out in Richie’s lap as the realization dawned on him. “The first life…”

“You took it from the goddamn cat!” Stan cried, all of his frustration shaking his voice. “That wasn’t it’s fucking sister! The cat came back and you took our last hope _f_ _ucking home with you_!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ope.


	4. Satisfaction Brought It Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Curiosity killed the cat, but..."

**1997**

Mike always hated killing. He knew it had to be done, holding the captive bolt gun between the eyes of the gentle sheep, following his grandfather’s firm orders. Still, it didn’t make it any easier to take the life itself. The only thing that was going to get him through _this_ was the knowledge that he was protecting six other lives in return; countless others if this was all done right.

There weren’t any shelters or pet stores in Derry, so when Mike came to find the stray tabby kitten, he knew it to be fate. Perhaps the Turtle brought her to him; it was certainly better than the otherwise radio silence he received when trying to reach out. The small kitten’s soft mewling wretched his heart as he held her small body in his palm, all other steps of his ritual complete. The dagger shook in his hand, wishing there was any other way to do this. 

With blood staining his hands, he placed the small creature in the pewter box quickly, ashamed to look at her corpse as she slowly stilled. He locked it up and placed the key in his notebook, placing it down upon the box, hoping he’d never have to come down here again. 

It was not until the next morning that Mike realized he had left his wallet down in the clubhouse. Seeing the hatch left open, he was glad he had to come back here to close it and stop unwanted visitors from entering, likely having left it that way when he was distraught about the small life he took. He made his way down, seeing his wallet there on the large blanket he had left sprawled along the ground. Mike kept his eyes off of the pewter box mocking him from the side and instead saw something he did not expect to see.

A tiny gray tabby was down here with him, uneasy on her young paws, shaking as she let out soft meows in the corner. He approached her cautiously, pocketing his wallet before picking her up as gently as he could.

“Hey there, little one,” Mike cooed softly, petting her head. “Did you fall down the hatch and hurt yourself? I’m sorry I left it open.”

Of course, she could not respond with anything more than a high-pitched meow, and Mike couldn’t help but chuckle.

“That must’ve been your sister,” he said. “I’m sorry about that. I hope there aren’t any more of you. Don’t worry, though; I’ll take care of you. You’re safe with me.”

*******

**2016**

Mike fucked up. He fucked up _big_ time.

Eddie was bleeding out from his open wound, Richie and Beverly desperately pressing Richie’s jacket into his shoulder to stop any more blood from pouring out.

“This can’t be happening,” Mike croaked, watching in terrible remorse. “Eddie, I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

“He’ll be fine!” Richie spat angrily, as if the notion that Eddie _wouldn’t_ be ok was blasphemous to think. “We’re going to get him out of here! Eds - oh my god his fucking arm - Eds - ”

Richie’s voice was far away. The clatter around them was unimportant. Eddie could feel everything running out of him with the blood… all of his rage, all of his pain, all of his fear, all of his confusion and his hurt. He supposed he was dying, but everything in the darkness was becoming so lucid and clear. He looked to Beverly - crying for help and trying to staunch the flow of blood from Eddie’s shoulder - to Richie, who looked so desperately frightened and pale. There Richie was, yes, no longer impure or faded out with confusion and repression from Eddie’s heart, but clearer and clearer until in Richie’s face, Eddie finally saw and felt everything he was holding back. His heart was nearly ready to burst at the sheer force of all the love there, and he couldn’t help but think, even in all the chaos, _Not bad. This is not bad at all._

“Richie,” Eddie whispered.

“What is it, Eds?” Richie cried desperately, tears from his cheeks spilling down on Eddie’s forehead.

“Don’t call me Eds,” he said and smiled. He raised his left and only hand and touched Richie’s cheek. “You know I… I…” 

His eyes started to flutter, but Richie shook his shoulder.

“Don’t you fucking dare!” Richie cried, tears spilling profusely down his cheeks. “I love you. Do you hear me, Eddie? I fucking love you and you are not dying down here!”

Eddie was too far gone to have the ability to respond, but his chest still moved steady under Richie’s other hand. Stan looked at them, these two hopeless idiots that never got a chance, the weight of it all crushing his chest. He was not going to allow _them_ to be crushed by this fucking town, this _fucking clown_.

Stan stood, looking around for Bill and spotted him nearby, standing just above the clown they knew all too well. He and Richie had pulled it, really yanked it from the eldritch world from which It came. Stan knew that the Turtle was gone, that they would get no help from Him this time, but now it didn’t _matter_. It looked _scared_ and Stan felt a rush as he ran over to where it was crawling back away from Bill, stopping to stomp his boot down on It’s chest, reaching down and ripping It’s arm off with minimal effort.

“How the fuck do _you_ like it?” Stan shouted, spitting in It’s face and throwing It’s arm to the side. “You stupid fucking piece of shit!”

“It’s weak!” Bill exclaimed, pointing down at It. “Look at It! It’s getting smaller by the second.”

“ _Nooo_ ,” It moaned, a small, pathetic cry as it tried to get away. “I am the Eater of Worlds! I - I - ”

“You’re a little _bitch_!” Stan spat again.

“You’re fucking _nothing_ !” Ben piped in, coming in from Stan’s other side. “You’re nothing but a pathetic _mimic!_ ”

“You can’t hurt us now!” Mike bellowed, appearing beside Bill. “We’re not fucking scared of you! You can’t do shit!”

“How does it feel to be small?” Bev said next, standing firm in the center. “How does it feel to know you’re _dying?_ ”

Stanley knelt down, staring down at the pathetic small thing It had become, It’s drooping face still caked with streaked clown makeup as it shrunk into the size of an infant. Without hesitation, Stan stuck his hand through It’s chest, hearing it elicit a pitiful cry. He had thought about Eddie when he had ripped off It’s arm, and now he thought about Richie as he ripped out It’s heart, beating vigorously in panic in Stan’s hand.

“I took my life because of you,” he whispered harshly into It’s face. “You’re not going to take theirs, too.”

The others crouched down to his side, each placing a hand on Stan’s own and pressed down together to crush the evil thing in their grasp, watching it crumble to dust and ruin. What was left of It’s physical form crumbled and faded. A wave of relief rolled through them all, a great weight pulled off of their collective souls. The glow above them dimmed into darkness, leaving only the spare flashlights they had with them to shine over the now rumbling surface.

“This place is gonna collapse,” Ben said, helping Beverly to her feet and looking around. “We gotta get out of here.”

“Rich!” Bill shouted, running over with his flashlight and shining it down on the two men on the ground.

“He’s - he’s still breathing,” Richie cried softly, still cradling Eddie in his lap, who looked unconscious. “He’s still breathing.”

“Richie…” Ben started. “We have to hurry. I don’t think - ”

“We’re getting him out of here,” Stan said firmly, leaning down to help take Eddie’s feet. “There’s no way in hell we’re leaving him.” 

“Richie, help us get him up,” Mike demanded, praying to Maturin that he could rectify this huge mistake he had made in counting the lives.

Terrified, but just as willing to help, Ben quickly wrapped Richie’s jacket around Eddie like a tourniquet, tying it up just under Eddie’s arm on the other side of his wound, hoping it was pulling tightly enough to keep the blood loss to a minimum.. For some reason, as Ben tied the sleeves right against Eddie’s ribcage, he could hear Eddie’s tiny voice in his head screaming _How do you amputate a waist?_ and an absurd part of him wanted to laugh.

Audra was still unconscious, stirring slightly in Bill’s arms as he lifted her up, Mike helping sling her arm around Bill’s shoulder.

“What about him?” Mike asked, pointing to the man on the ground.

“Dead,” Bill said. “Do we know him?”

“He’s better off that way,” Beverly said. They trusted her enough to leave it at that.

“How the fuck do we get out of here?” Bill asked.

“Hey, buddy,” Stan said, lightly tapping Eddie’s cheek while Richie held his small body firmly. “Gotta stay with us. We need your compass brain.”

Relief swept through them when Eddie groaned. Eyes still closed, he lifted his arm up and pointed to the tunnel they had all forgotten they came from.

“Perfect!” Beverly screamed. “Let’s get the fuck out of here!”

With the help of Mike hoisting Eddie onto Richie’s back and Stan staying as close behind (or underneath) Richie as possible to make sure Eddie was secure, Ben and Beverly doing the same for Bill carrying Audra, they were able to climb out of the well. Barely making it to the street as the house on Neibolt collapsed, they all looked back with heaving chests and dirt-caked faces. The entire structure flattened and fell through the ground, sucked down into the bowels of hell from which it came. 

“I think we just helped the Derry real estate value big time,” Richie muttered, shifting Eddie’s weight so he could cradle him again. He looked down at the man in his arms and a smile spread on his face when he saw those doe brown eyes staring right back at him. “Hey there, gorgeous.”

Whether covered in Pennywise’s vomit, quarry water, or sticky with other men’s blood, that statement would always be true; Richie couldn’t find a way for Eddie _not_ to be beautiful. Especially not when he was grinning right back up at him, the triumph of their victory plastered on his face.

Stan came over, carefully removing Richie’s jacket from Eddie’s shoulder. Richie almost protested, but he noticed that no new blood had pooled on the fabric since leaving the cistern. He gapped down as Stan revealed Eddie’s bare shoulder healed over beneath the torn hems of his sweater.

“How - ?” Richie began, lost for words in a rare moment.

“Our scars,” Bev said quietly, looking down at her hand. She lifted it to show the others, but where the old scar of their blood pact once was, was now bare and healed skin. 

“They’re all gone,” Mike whispered, looking down at his own. 

Stan looked between his own hand and Eddie’s shoulder, his lips parted in silent awe. 

“I guess with Pennywise gone, so are all the scars he left,” Bill reasoned, not even noticing the absence of his stutter since they left the sewers below.

“Nothing lasts forever,” said Richie.

“Except maybe love,” Ben said, looking down at Beverly with a soft smile.

“Take it easy there, Hallmark Channel.”

Just as they did many years ago, they jumped down into the quarry. This time, though, they went two by two, hand in hand with another; Richie with Eddie, Ben with Beverly, Bill with Audra, and Mike with Stan. The silence amongst them was not uncomfortable, settling down easily as they quietly digested the events of the last 24 hours.

Audra finally came to speaking after Bill rinsed her in the water. No one else could hear what they were talking about, but Audra’s eyes would settle on Mike at several occasions, and look back at her young-looking husband with almost a gentle understanding. 

“So,” Eddie said quietly, allowing himself to straddle Richie where he was wading in the water; his body kept attempting to paddle with the arm he no longer had. “You love me, huh?”

Expecting Richie to make some sort of comeback or quip, it took Eddie by surprise when Richie simply reached up to cup his cheek, smiling softly at him. “Yeah. I do, Eds.” A small smirk played on his lips for a second before he said, “And I do believe there was something you were going to tell me in the cistern…?”

Eddie took a deep breath, not taking his eyes off of Richie’s. “I fucked your mother.”

“You turd!” Richie exclaimed, immediately splashing water in his face. But Eddie was giggling, gripping Richie tighter around his neck and pulling himself in close. “I love you too, Rich. Always have; always will.”

Stan had just come up to the surface, wiping his face and opening his eyes to the sight of Ben and Beverly so close together, he wasn’t sure how they could breathe. He rolled his eyes, looking over at Richie to help aid him in making fun of them.

“Can you fucking believe how inappropriate - ”

He froze, staring incredulously at the sight of Richie holding Eddie up in the water, Eddie’s arm wrapped around Richie’s neck as they kissed under the rising sun. A small, soft smile caught Stan’s lips; he couldn’t really force himself to rag on them as they basked in their delight and rejoiced in their new freedom.

Freedom; free from the clutches of a decades-long curse that had quietly plagued them all. Stan looked over at Mike, poor Mike who had been lost in this town all alone for years, his head gently leaning back over his shoulders and soaking in the sunlight. Sun; Mike deserved to bath in it, to live in sunlight and joy and leave the darkness of this shithole behind him. Stanley gently splashed some water over at him and Mike chuckled, blinking away the stray droplets from his eyelashes and looked over at him.

“A little weird, isn’t it?” Stan laughed softly. “A bunch of middle aged assholes come into this town, trash a Chinese restaurant, blow up a house, and - what? Go back home like this, baby-faced and barely legal? Not to mention we have a body in the clubhouse we need to bring back to the hospital.”

“I was wondering that myself,” Mike sighed, slowly paddling with Stan away from where Richie and Eddie were whispering sweet nothings to each other. “Henry will be fine. How do you all explain this when you get back?”

“You know something,” Stan said slowly, leaning back and letting himself drift onto his back. “I don’t think we’ll have to; not if we don’t go back the same way.”

“How do you mean?”

“New faces, new ages… we can get new names, new lives…”

Mike nodded, smiling dreamily at the idea. “Just leave all of our bloody clothes and shit behind, fake our own deaths to start over. Sounds too good to be true.”

“Doesn’t have to be.”

“How so?” Mike cocked an eyebrow at him. 

Stan just chuckled, closing his eyes so he didn’t have to blink in the sun; this was a much better bath than the one he had the night before. “I know a guy.”

*******

**Halloween**

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Is that really the first thing you say to us?” Richie huffed, throwing an arm over Eddie’s shoulder. “After two months of not seeing these drop dead gorgeous faces and we graciously invite you to our home?”

“I could’ve done without seeing your face a little while longer,” Stan teased, pulling Richie into a hug and doing his best not to get any of Richie’s face paint on him. “We literally text every day, asshole.”

“Stan, give them a break,” Patty giggled, hugging Richie tightly. “It’s so great to see you both again.”

“Pleasure to see you again, Stanley, old chap,” Eddie gushed obnoxiously, throwing out a fake right-arm for Stan to shake. 

“I’m not touching that,” Stan grimaced as Richie snorted. “Richie is rubbing off on you too much.”

“That’s not the only thing we’re rubbing - ”

“ _Stop._ ”

But even Stan couldn’t help himself from laughing, shoving the prop arm out of the way and pulling Eddie into a tight hug. And yeah, it _was_ clever of them to dress as zombies, with Eddie sporting a sleeve-torn and fake blood-stained hoodie. 

“You probably should go bring out your actual prosthetic,” Richie mused, squeezing the prop arm and eliciting a loud squeak.

“So you could go around bopping people with it all night?” Eddie scoffed.

“I would _never_ ,” Richie scoffed back as if offended, kissing Eddie on the forehead. “What kind of husband do you take me for?”

_Husband._ If there was a world record for the amount of times one could refer to themselves or their partner as _husband_ , Richie broke it within hours. 

After quite a bit of time pestering over their new birth certificates when they got back (“This is bullshit!” Eddie had huffed. “Mike and I are older than you fuckers! Why’d you put 1995 as all of our birth years, Stan?! Now I can’t drink until November!”), Eddie had finally settled on something that put a blanket of calm over everything else: sharing a name with Richie. Richie probably had the most fun coming up with new last names for them all, but putting down on paper that they would be spending the rest of their lives together trumped every other issue in the new life process.

Patty had no qualms about running away with her husband, taking out their savings and giving the metaphorical middle finger to her life and her overbearing parents and starting a bird sanctuary in the Florida Keys. Life was nothing but sunshine, parrots, and Mojitos.

“I’m surprised you guys aren’t in bird costumes,” Richie teased, winking over at Patty in her cowgirl outfit. “Stan, you are…?”

“Dave,” he deadpanned, pointing to a tag on his otherwise normal button up that read _‘Hi, my name is_ _Dave_ _.’_

“Unfuckingbelievable, dude. I can’t believe you show up at my house like this.”

“This place is so cozy,” Patty gushed, taking Eddie by the arm as he showed her the den. “Honestly, Richie, it’s not the kind of place I pictured for you.”

“You mean a cabin in the woods away from people so I can spend quality time with my husband every day, all while still in enough proximity to Manhattan so I can get my favorite tacos within a half hour of craving?”

“I stand corrected,” Patty chuckled.

“Don’t sit on the furniture,” Stan told her. “I’d hate to think about what they’ve been spending their quality time on in here.”

“Everywhere, Stan,” Richie sighed, patting him on the shoulder. “I got a young man’s back again and I am aiming to throw it out before I’m thirty.”

“Beep beep, Richie,” Eddie sighed as he failed to suppress a pleased smile, cheeks sure to be blushing under his zombie makeup.

In no time, the seven Losers and Patty were all together, throwing the party they never got a chance to share in their (first) youth. Somehow, Richie became the most _adult_ person in the house when a drunken Bill stumbled into his office.

“That’s all my podcast shit!” Richie exclaimed, throwing Bill in his stupid-ass beatnik costume out of the way and slamming the door shut. “Get the hell out of there before you break shit.”

“You started a podcast?” Beverly asked, intrigued, crossing her stocking-clad legs on the cushy armchair; her and Ben had dressed as Brad and Janet from Rocky Horror.

“I never got a chance to do my Voices with my stand-up,” Richie explained. “Not with the shit my ghostwriter gave me. But now the _new_ me gets to hide in this little house, make omelets for my husband every morning and tell stories for my loyal, faceless listeners.”

“They’re sooo good,” Eddie gushed, drunkenly leaning onto their kitchen counter and slipping slightly without his other arm to hold him up. “All your Voices are so cute, Rich.”

“Smitten,” Beverly chuckled, rolling her eyes at them. “You two are goners. Eddie, my dear, what have you been up to while Richie entertains himself in there?”

“Actually, he’s got quite the arsenal of characters himself,” Richie said, looking quite proud. “Sometimes he’ll help me with the stories. But usually he’s out back with Christine.”

“Who?”

“She’s my babbyyyy,” Eddie slurred, grinning ear to ear. “I’m building her from scratch!”

“I always knew you were good with your hands, love,” Richie winked.

“Hopefully a real car doesn’t end like your disaster Soapbox Racer from when we were kids,” Ben chuckled.

“And you two have been…?” Richie asked Ben.

“Well, Stan’s contact was able to help transfer over mine and Beverly’s riches into the bank accounts of our, uh… niece and nephew.”

“Who both just happen to be our namesakes,” Beverly shrugged, smirking. “And married… to each other.”

“We’ve already been to five countries and I’ve got about a hundred more on my bucket list,” Ben grinned.

“Heard from Audra, Bill?” Patty asked as she passed him and Mike some beers from the fridge.

“As well as she can, I suppose,” Bill shrugged. “Given the whole mutant space clown shit... “

“But,” Mike interrupted. “She very kindly offered Bill’s new novel to his old agents under a pseudonym.”

“A very kind consolation for the exaggerated death of her late husband, Bill _Denbrough_ ,” Bill smiled. 

“Very kind, indeed,” Stan said. “Not every woman is so understanding about their husband faking his death and running off with his high school crush.”

“They are when they have a girlfriend,” Mike muttered, making Stanley sputter up his beer. “It definitely helps put things at ease.”

“Yes, I’m sure it would’ve been very hard for you to relax in your beach cabin in California,” Patty huffed, rolling her eyes. “Now, when’s the wedding?”

“Speaking of marriage,” Mike piped up, avoiding the question. “Which name did the newlyweds pick for themselves?”

Eddie turned beat red, throwing his head into his hand in a fit of giggles as Richie grinned.

“Ohhhh, he hates it,” Richie laughed. “I convinced him to hyphenate.”

“Oh no,” Stan sighed. “Didn’t you pick his last name, too? After he told you he didn’t care, since he was gonna change it for the marriage anyway?”

“Yeeeeah,” Richie chuckled. “You should’ve seen the clerks face when he saw Richard Wentworth Craven was marrying Edward Francis Dick.”

A beat of silence passed before a collective groan, followed by Richie laughing hysterically.

“I’m going to be Eddie Craven-Dick forever,” Eddie mumbled, still unable to suppress his drunken giggles.

“ _Yeah_ , you are,” Richie winked, pulling his husband into a kiss.

“Richie, why don’t you read some of Bill’s stories for your podcast!” Patty suddenly exclaimed. “You guys could work on projects together!”

“Only if I can rewrite his endings,” Richie teased. 

“They’re getting better,” Bill professed, smiling fondly as he leaned into Mike.

“Good,” Eddie sighed, looking up at his husband with loving eyes. “I always prefer a happy ending.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for coming on this weird journey. I'm pretty sure writing this fic lost me sanity points.  
> I had completed the original outline fully intending on killing Eddie in this, but thankfully I was too depressed to want to do that. But now our Losers get their happy ending at least, even if they had to each die horribly to get it.  
> Not my proudest, but definitely fun to write!  
> Alas! There are more great stories to be read! If you want to read more stories written from our randomized Halloween prompt challenge! Please visit the collection here:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/collections/HallowRens_Spooktacular_IT_Project_2020
> 
> for the rest of our fantastic writers! Please heed tags and ratings! 
> 
> Come yell at me over on tumblr @ fuckbitchesgetReddie
> 
> Happy Halloween <3

**Author's Note:**

> Me: I want to write something beautiful.  
> Me: Presents you with this.
> 
> Expect Part 2 by the end of next week! Please don't forget to check out the other creators on my tumblr, who I will be tagging by 10/10!


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